


The Fall of Gondolin

by evenstar8705



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor Violence, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 07:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 104,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18441782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evenstar8705/pseuds/evenstar8705
Summary: The full story of the Fall of Gondolin beginning with the character Aredhel. It tells of how she was spirited away by the Dark Elf. It tells of Maeglin's birth and ill childhood. It sets the stage for Tuor and Idril's romance and Maeglin's torment.





	1. Aredhel

Aredhel Ar-Fenial slipped away from the crowded hall and stood alone in her bower, far from the revelry of the court. She stopped and breathed deeply to catch her breath as well as to listen for anyone that might have been following her. If so, they would likely drag her back to the feast with a kind word or a reproaching one. When she was certain she was alone at last, she pulled out several scrolls and began documenting the thoughts racing through her head. Putting them to paper rested some of those thoughts and gave her a little peace of mind. If she had remained in that stuffy hall a moment longer, she feared that she might have utterly forgotten herself and her station and screamed aloud or shattered the nearest bit of crockery. How would the Golodrim react to her then? Though everyone assured her that the people loved her, she knew that they all secretly thought she was too strange to be a proper lady.

She had been having that feeling again; the sense that the great stone walls of the citadel of Gondolin were closing fast upon her and she was helpless to stop it. The music and the droning of a myriad of voices threw her into confusion. The brightness of the countless candles hurt her eyes, and the heat of the fires and torches was nigh unbearable. The intoxicating and sometimes suffocating scents of a variety of food, from roasted meats to garden vegetables, from fruit to tempting desserts, became overwhelming and made her stomach roil. The taste of sweat and wine was upon the tip of her tongue. Her head was spinning with the assault upon her senses.

She was still unused to the great city of Gondolin, and her ears were easily wearied with the usual talk amongst the Golodrim. The simple-minded folk, great and small alike prattled on merely about the next festivity, the latest Council, the dreary happenings of the day, and if there was naught else to talk about, they gossiped about their fellows. Gondolin was one of the few places left in Beleriand that knew peace, and so every day was a holiday, and there was more leisure time than the Golodrim knew what to do with. Aredhel found the constant celebrations dull and trite and avoided them if she could. But oftentimes, her brother invited her as a guest of honor, and there was no escaping her duties to her king. She was not so much a voluntary guest, and everyone was considered an honored guest at these gatherings. She did not feel honored, she was merely expected.

His little daughter Idril always came along as well, and she was Aredhel's charge with her mother gone. So Aredhel took the time to gather together a wardrobe for that night and stood alongside her brother and pretended to be enjoying herself as she watched her niece with affection. With everyone constantly talking to everyone but herself, she began to feel lonely and awkward. But when she attempted to take charge of a conversation, she lost her audiences' interest quickly when she mentioned that the hunting season was almost upon them and explained the best way to skin a fresh kill or the importance of animal scat in identifying prey. When she realized that they had merely been staring the whole time with their mouths hanging open, she gave up trying to make friends.

The Golodrim held a very high opinion of themselves. Most of their lords were High-Elves, but many more had been born there in the city of white-washed stone and splendor. They knew nothing of the sorrows of the world or of Valinor, always sheltered and ignorant. They found hunting distasteful and often thought of their kin in Nargothrond and the Sindar as barbarians. Gondolin was the fairest place in Arda, even though Aredhel had heard the minstrels sing that King Thingol was the tallest of the Eldar, his city of Menegroth and the realm of Doriath was the fairest, his queen the wisest, and his daughter the most beautiful that was or ever shall be. King Finrod and his folk could have their damp caves, it would not save them. Besides, they had gotten the idea from the Sindar, and King Thingol could have his Girdle of Melian. Sorcery and bows would not protect them either.

It was prophesied by Mandos that Gondolin would be the last to fall to Morgoth, and that meant it would never fall in the Golodrim's simple minds. The White Lady knew better. Mandos had prophesied that it certainly would fall. They had more time to prepare for Morgoth's inevitable attack, but nothing more. High walls and gleaming swords would not save them.

Aredhel was the youngest of her siblings. Her father Finwë had had two sons, which were Fingon and Turgon. Turgon ruled the Noldor in the North, Fingon ruled the rest. Aredhel's duty was to aid Turgon in Gondolin as a sort of co-regent. But though she was the youngest of the Royal Children and a female, she was just as fierce as her brothers. Before she had come with her brother to Gondolin, she had dwelt with her cousins Celegorm and Curufin in the lands of Himlad. They were strictly her half-cousins, and since they were two of the Seven Sons of Fëanor, there was some bad blood between them and their kin.

Fëanor had divided the Noldor into two branches. The original king had had two wives, an unusual thing among the Eldar. His first wife, Miriel, died bearing his heir, Fëanor. His second wife, Indis, bore to him two other sons. Turgon was the descendant of one of these. When the true king was murdered by Morgoth the fallen Vala, Fëanor proposed that the Noldor leave Valinor and seek vengeance. All agreed, but Fëanor proposed other things as well, such as usurping the Sindar's lands and amassing armies to destroy their foe Morgoth and to reclaim his stolen Silmarils at any cost. Indis' children spoke out against him, and so he left them to cross the terrible Grinding Ice on foot and took those that were loyal to him to the Havens of the Teleri. There, he murdered the ship-wrights and stole their ships. That was why the Noldor were cursed, and their fathers had become sworn enemies when the Noldor went into exile.

Bitter was the crossing of the Helceraxë, the Grinding Ice that brought the children of Indis from the blessed lands of Valinor and into the unknown that they intended to make their new home. The great mass of people feared avalanches would sweep them away. Rocks encrusted with ice would now and then fall upon them and injure or kill with only the slightest disturbance. This turned out to be the least of their worries. They had only to tread lightly and quietly. The real killer was simply the cold itself. It pierced through layers and layers of cloth and fur and gnawed its way through bones. It killed slowly but surely. Most froze to death, falling asleep and dreaming of being warm. The first that died did so in their sleep, victims to the cold. After that they fought off sleep. Those that gave in to their exhaustion risked death, even torch bearers that had fire froze to death. The ground upon which they trod was treacherous, for often it was ice disguised with snow.

Some fell through and drowned in the icy cold waters, trapped as the ice reformed to imprison them forever. Turgon's wife and the Queen of the Golodrim met her fate in this way. She handed her newborn baby, the Princess Idril, into Aredhel's arms and strayed away to lead several stragglers back to the main group. Without warning, the ground gave way beneath her and her party, and though they were rescued from the waters, she had stood in the middle of the fray, and thus she was unreachable. The Golodrim had tried in vain to save her. Turgon dove into the waters, but this too was vanity. Elenwë was trapped under fresh ice, and her people could only watch in horror as she struggled to shatter it, struggled with her last ounce of strength for a single breath. And while she struggled, her face blanched from the lack of air and the bitter cold. Then she became peacefully still, and it was over.

Aredhel was just as distressed as everyone else with Elenwë's death, and she was angered when she learned that Fëanor had left them all there to die. But, she told herself, that was Fëanor's sin, not his sons. Not Celegorm and Curufin, whom she loved. Growing up in Valinor, she had been Celegorm's favorite play-mate, despite her gender. Even when she was young, she had climbed trees, fearless of injury or grime. She could throw stones more accurately than the brothers, but her father did not allow her to carry a sword or train with one. That was above her status and ladyship. But she rode horses and became a fine huntress under Prince Celegorm's training. He bragged that he had made her the finest huntress of all time, and perhaps he was right. Rather than wearing pretty dresses that were dreadfully uncomfortable, inconvenient, and easily worn out after their first wear, she wore a boy's plain, loose tunic and tough riding breeches. She was always upon a horse if she was not sleeping. She founded a grand kennel and had many hounds. She missed them sorely when they left Valinor.

Aredhel had dealt with much turmoil for her behavior even then. Her father and her brothers did not like it that she returned from the Pastures of Yavanna with grass and leaves in her hair, dirt and blood stains upon her clothes, boy's clothes for that matter, and spoke with a fiery tongue, fearless of rebuke. She felt she was the equal of anyone, male or female, and she was told by them that she was so. But, she was also a Lady, daughter of kings, and had a reputation to protect and a duty to her people. She was told that she must stop tramping about with these upstart Sons of Fëanor. She refused, and Celegorm, always eager to stir up mischief, increased his time with her in spite. Finwë had a stern talking with him, claiming that he had unsexed Aredhel, but in the end, she agreed to compromise. She began to wear dresses more often and acted more ladylike around her father and brothers. But her heart was wild and untamable, and she was able to continue hunting with Celegorm beside her.

Now that she was no longer a child and her father and elder brother was leagues away, she had more freedom. Turgon was not so strict as the other males in her family. She could wear a sword if she pleased, but she could not wield it in the public eye. Blades could not be drawn unless it was for training or battle, and there was little of that. She could not hunt in the wild lands. The animals near Gondolin were tame, the gardens planted there by her people. She could not wear whatever she desired either. She wore elegant dresses so that she would not be disgraced and attended one festival after another, and even worse, her once constant companion Prince Celegorm was not there to make japes or cause trouble.

Idril was her only joy, and was practically her own babe. Her niece was the prettiest, sweetest child, though sometimes she could be a handful. Idril always turned to her Auntie if she had questions, concerns, or had gotten into trouble. Unfortunately, the poor girl had no one else to turn to. In return for her kindness, if Aredhel could not tolerate another social gathering, Idril would do her best to convince her father that the White Lady could not possibly attend. Oftentimes she came up with clever excuses, but Turgon insisted more and more these days. Perhaps he had ceased to believe any excuses or Idril had run out of ideas.

Aredhel also wished to avoid her suitors. She was the sister of King Turgon and therefore the most desirable female bachelor in the North Kingdom, and seemingly the most available. She was a fierce and independent maiden, beautiful, intelligent, but stark cold. She felt no remorse for those that fell for her charms. After all, she sought no husband and did not desire one at all. She used and discarded most of her suitors, leading on a poor lad to stay the eager tongues of the court for a little while, testing her seductive powers and enjoying herself. She gave the more overbearing ones impossible tasks in order to prove their love and devotion until they finally realized that their efforts were in vain and sought another, less tempered jewel to pursue.

But the pressure from her own people was fast mounting. She could not dally in the matter of courtship much longer. They wanted assurance that the throne would not be vacant if something catastrophic were to fall upon Idril their heiress or if she were otherwise incapable of carrying out her duty. If not, the bloodline would call upon one of the Sons of Fëanor to reign, and the Golodrim did not want that at all. She grew tired of the rendezvous, the game of 'cat and mouse' in her opinion. She made it known to everyone that she was now a disciple of the Valier Nessa, a Virgin Huntress, and inaccessible. This did not stop suitors coming to call upon her to try and convince her to change her mind and renounce her hasty vow. She had once found it amusing. Now it was a constant aggravation.

At long last, Aredhel went to her brother and poured her heart to him and all that she desired. She longed for the ancient days and was plagued by the ceaselessly guarded city and the people's unguarded talk. She was also lonely for the faces of the Sons of Fëanor. She could always connect with Turgon, for they had understood one another remarkably well, even when they were children and Aredhel was a tomboy. He had disapproved of her habits and despised Celegorm, but he did not try to ostracize her as their father and elder brother Fingon had once done. Turgon listened intently to her words, as she knew he would, and he tried his best to support her, but the conversation became hostile.

"What can I do to ease your restlessness?" he asked.

"It is not you, brother. It is this place!"

"But there is nothing I can do about our surroundings. No one else has ever come to me with misgivings about Gondolin or asked to depart her before. Do you not love the city? Have we not toiled for centuries in the city's making?"

Aredhel decided to be more tactful and said, "Do not mistake me," for her brother loved the work of his own hands, perhaps overmuch. "Gondolin is certainly one of the fairest dwellings outside of Valinor itself. But it is for that very place that I long, and the way back to the Blessed Lands is barred to the Noldor. You cannot hope to surpass the dwelling places of the Valar!"

"You long for the past, dear sister," Turgon said with pity. "And that I cannot give to you."

"I know that, but there is yet another cure for my malady."

"The only cure that I can think of is a husband," Turgon suggested. "You need a companion, Aredhel. How can you bear the loneliness? You have refused every one of your suitors. Do you think I have no knowledge of your doings at court? I have heard the rabble talk of you and the hopeless pursuits you have sent Elves upon in order to win your heart or hand, for your heart you will never give! They fall about your feet and worship you, and you twist their love and deal with them cruelly! Your deeds are becoming scandalous, Aredhel! You refused even Ecthelion Lord of the Fountains and Warden of the Great Gate, and he is the finest of the Eldar that you could ever hope to find in Gondolin!"

"Yes. He is a fine and noble lord, like all of the Elves in this city," Aredhel was agitated by his words. "None of the Noldoli are paupers, but they are all the same. They are all remote, full of pompous pride, and seek to dominate and belittle their wives. They may love them, and some may even treat them as equals, but the bride is no longer her own self. I would no longer be the White Lady in my own right with my own status, but the Lady of Ecthelion Lord of the Fountains! I would become merely a subservient extension of him."

"Aredhel, you are the daughter of a king and my sister. You shall always have your own status, if your status is all that you seek to protect."

"I wish to protect my own chastity and dignity, not my status! How could you think that I would be so shallow?"

"Aredhel, I wish to make a good match for you. I would never dream of wedding you to one unworthy of you."

Aredhel searched his face and answered, "You seem determined to marry me off, brother. Could it be that you are trying to get rid of me? Well then, I ask this of you: If I were to wed Ecthelion or another, who then would rear your daughter? Idril has no mother, and you have no wife to fill that void in her life. Perhaps it is you that is in need of a spouse!"

"I did have a spouse, and her name was Elenwë! I seek no other, for she was dear to me. You will never know how much I loved her... She was not only my bride, or slave, as you seem to think the word means, but my most trusted and wisest of counselors. Elenwë was my Queen, my dearest friend, and my love. She was also the mother of my child. Besides, I would rather not have a second wife that would complicate matters further as it did for Fëanor and Indis' children. At least if you were wed to Ecthelion, you two could foster Idril in your home. Then she might finally have a taste of what it would be like to have a complete family and to be happy, for she is a moody child I fear."

"And I do not blame her!" Aredhel retorted. "The girl lost her mother when she was a babe. Nothing can fill that abyss in her life, and now you seek to cast her from your side and into the hands of strangers! I am not so much a stranger, for I have all but reared her as my own these years, but who is Ecthelion to her but a name with titles and estates? Do you think she would truly be happy? And when she is grown, you will likely try to marry her off as well. According to ancient law, the King should be no more than the consort of the Queen. It was she that was born to the throne and did not marry into it. You would likely ignore that law and hand over the reign to Idril's husband, and a husband of your choosing!"

"What do you care about Idril's happiness? You are asking me to let you leave and abandon her! What shall she do without you, the closest thing she will ever have to a true mother?"

"And what of you, her father, for she is your child and not mine! Though I love her well, she did not spring forth from my loins! Do not use her as an excuse to wed me against my will and unburden yourself from raising your own heir! Idril must learn to live without me and rule one day if anything were to happen to you!"

Turgon said, "It is true. She is not your child. It seems to me as though you do not care for having children of your own either. Children are precious and far too few these days. Do you not wish to carry on your bloodline?"

"I do not plan upon having children. If it is offspring you desire, encourage the Golodrim to have more children, but do not command it of them. Especially do not command it of me."

"I care only for your happiness. I do not know if you can find that alone in permanent solitude!"

"I will not find happiness in marriage!" Aredhel snapped. "The very word is ominous to me! Now can we move on to a more relevant and practical subject?"

"Very well," Turgon sighed. "But how else do you plan to cure your restlessness?"

"I am very glad you asked. I plan to depart for Himlad and dwell with the Sons of Fëanor for a time," she answered. "I shall become the Huntress again. I felt such joy there in the forests and pastures of Valinor, calling to my hounds and running the great race. Here in this city with the thickest, tallest walls and the large numbers of soldiers and weaponry, and the endless festivals, I feel caged."

"Perhaps I should give you some lands to make your own? What of the field of Tumladin? That would give you enough land to plant gardens or even a new forest. And there are already gardens here behind our walls of surpassing beauty! Why not spend time there and walk about them?"

"They were not originally there, were they? You planted them recently, and they are always crowded. Not with the birds and bees, but with hundreds of our people. They too seek solace from a prisoner's life. I have walked the garden paths countless times, longing for the gardens unspoilt by greedy hands and the unexplored forests. Everything in this city had been fabricated to imitate what nature first created!"

Turgon was astonished and hurt that Aredhel was not satisfied with his own creation, and he was having difficulty understanding her desire. Did she seek only Celegorm and his misguided ways, or did she seek to claim the world for her own? Even so, her ambitions were high, and he was reluctant to yield to her desire.

"There is a law in this land that none that knows the ways hither shall depart," he said.

"I am well aware of that law, but I am not sure yet how far I shall wander or how long I shall leave the sacred walls of Gondolin."

"Do you think that you are above the law?"

"I am not your prisoner!" Aredhel burst in anger. "I am the White Lady, your sister, not your servant. I have said that many times before! You cannot keep me here, Turgon, and if you do, I swear-"

"Swear not!" Turgon interrupted. "Do not tempt fate, for it has a way of playing upon our words, sister!"

"Then I shall swear something that I know I can keep. I swear that I shall speak to no one of Gondolin, save for those that are of it."

"The law," Turgon said doubtfully, "if broken but once ceases to be a law."

"Do you mean to say that you do not trust me to hold my tongue?" Aredhel sounded injured. "That I am no more than a prattling girl of the court and would depart from the gates and wander upon the road, telling all that I see of this most sacred city that is thought to be unassailable? How is it unassailable if but one whisper upon the wind can destroy it?"

"If I trust you, Aredhel, there are others that I trust less. But go, if you must, and seek only Fingon our brother, and those that I send with you shall return as swiftly as need be."

"I am the White Lady. I shall go where I please and see whom I wish to see! Do not command aught else! Why are you trying your hardest to pent me here!"

"You are not afraid that Morgoth our enemy could have broken through our defenses and may be lingering with his armies on our borders? Do you realize that if a single spy, if only a bird, were to see or hear rumor of Gondolin and be true, our city would be destroyed and raptured by his black power?"

"That cannot be, for Morgoth is hemmed away in the North! I shall go South! I ask only for a small escort to guide me to Himlad."

They argued back and forth about the matter, but Aredhel was more stubborn than he was, and he yielded at last.

"I would never deprive you of anything, sister. Promise me that you shall seek Fingon, and remember that there are many perils in the world besides Morgoth, though of these perils you may know nothing."

He let those words linger, hoping that they might have some affect upon her, but Aredhel was not daunted by them and was no less eager to leave.

She replied only with, "I am glad that we agree, dearest brother."

Turgon kissed her and gathered together his best guides and rangers. He carefully chose one to oversee the others. The boy's name was Engner the Tracker. He was a bit of a young pup for an elf, born and bred behind the city walls, but he was vigorous and eager to be of service to his lord and king and his lady. His youthful energy was much needed for traveling the long hard roads of Beleriand, and though he was born to a less than noble family, he was raised as the apprentice of the finest trackers of the land. He had mastered the skills needed and was known for his expertise in the making and reading of maps. He could find his way through Hell, if it was necessary, and it was such a tracker that Turgon needed, for he knew his sister all too well.

Turgon took the youth aside and spoke to him eye to eye.

"My sister is very dear to me," he stated plainly. "You must understand this. There is only one that I love more than her, and I dare not utter her name."

"Ar-Fenial is very dear to us all, your highness" the youth answered. "It shall be as though the moon were vacant from the sky when she departs. She does not plan to leave for all time, does she?"

Turgon narrowed his eyes, "I did not know that you were a creature of the court. Have you even lain eyes upon the White Lady?"

"No, your majesty," Engner paled, fearing retribution, but he quickly recovered, "I have heard of her beauty and her countless suitors. I cannot imagine what the Elves shall have to do when she is at last beyond their reach and out of their sight. With peace in the land, there is not much else to take up their time."

"Then they are ungrateful for the peace that the Valar grants to them and the walls of Gondolin that protect them! No doubt, they shall have their chance for glorious battle. We can never know the activities of the Enemy. But I was speaking of my sister. Another thing that you must understand is that she is very headstrong. You are younger than she and likely more stubborn. I am counting upon that, Engner."

"Thank you for that compliment, my lord," Engner was puzzled.

"I am sending Lord Ecthelion upon the road with you, as well as the young lord Glorfindel. Aredhel shall try to bend you to her will and stretch out the rules set before her. Do not allow her to dominate you or dissuade you from following my commands. She shall insist upon taking the swiftest paths, heedless of peril."

Turgon handed several scrolls to Engner.

"What are these?"

"They are maps, of course," he answered. "I have marked all the paths that you may take. You shall seek Fingon in Hithlum. That is the only path that you may take, mind you!"

"I understand, my lord, though I had heard that the Lady desired to seek out the Sons of Fëanor."

"That is not my will. She should seek Fingon first, and she agreed to that before. Trust me and do not question your king."

"But-"

"You understand my command?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Then go! And may the stars shine upon you!"

Engner assembled all of the paraphernalia that was necessary for their journey and joined the White Lady's escort. Ecthelion and Glorfindel were already there with their supplies, and there were several others, no more than servants with swords and half a dozen in number. However, all were older than he, and they laughed when they realized how young he was.

"You are no more than a boy!"

"Age is only a number, my friends," he grumbled.

"We were expecting someone with more experience."

"I am the best tracker in Gondolin!" Engner defended. "I can track a wild deer for weeks after the trail has already grown cold, and I have been sent out upon the roads alone many times bearing messages throughout all of Beleriand! I am no public hermit like the rest of the Golodrim!"

"Very well, Master Tracker," Ecthelion laughed with the others in amusement. "We accept your proof. Now explain why you have held us all up waiting for you? Would it not have been better to leave early in the morning?"

"I was speaking with the King."

"And what did my brother say to you?" said a feminine voice in his ear.

He turned towards the voice and saw the White Lady, though he thought she was no more than an attendant to the King's sister at first. She was garbed in the drab of a servant or peasant. She wore a maiden's tunic and riding breeches, stitched for hard work and travel and not for elegance. However she was dressed, she was especially beautiful. Her hair was dark and loose and fell in ripples several inches above her waist. Her skin was luminous, her eyes piercing blue. She was slender and tall, not birdlike and dainty. And yet there was a frown upon her face. Though she was in the garb of a knave, any fool could sense the strength in her. She was a daughter of kings. He felt unsettled in her presence, but he stood up proud and erect and guarded his thoughts.

"We were discussing the conditions of the road and of the impending season," Engner answered. "It shall be especially difficult now that winter is coming. I personally think that you should have waited for spring before you decided to set out on this venture. We should be expecting heavy snows-"

He would have continued his prattling with pleasure, but Aredhel held up her hand for silence. He frowned and shut his mouth, for a child came sprinting towards the company. She was a pretty thing with hair of gold parted into seven braids. She wore a holiday gown of crimson of the finest stuff. Though she was a child, she was a tall girl for her age. Aredhel stretched out her arms and embraced her. Engner saw that the others bowed in the child's presence. Her eyes were gray, the same as the King's, and he realized that this must be the Princess Idril.

"Hello, little darling!" Aredhel cried indulgently, lifting the child into her arms as though she were made of nothing. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come to beg you not to leave, Auntie," the child answered with all seriousness, "and if I cannot succeed where my father has failed, then I have come to say my mournful farewells."

Aredhel was astonished and did not answer at once. Even the two lords were confused and watched from the corners of their eyes. They did not wish to intrude upon the conversation more than they must.

"Why are you leaving, Auntie?" the girl asked, sounding a little more like a child. "Why?"

"Because I cannot remain here. I am stifled by the city. It is as simple as that. Do you not understand, darling?"

"No. That is far too simple an answer."

Engner almost laughed aloud, but he knew it would be most disrespectful and did not dare to even crack a smile. Usually, adults were counseled to give simple answers to their children, and only then could they understand. But, it appeared that Idril was no ordinary child. Perhaps children were not credited with the intelligence that they were deserved.

"Do not worry for me, Idril. I will not be gone forever."

"Then when will you return? And for this, I shall need a direct answer!"

"As soon as I have grown weary of the hunt and my restlessness is cured."

The expression on the child's face made it obvious that she was disappointed with that response, "Then I shall not see you again for a terrible long count of years, long after your 'restlessness' has passed, as you call it. You shall yearn for home more sorely than you yearn to leave it now, and the years shall be hateful to you. You must stay, for your own sake."

"Is this a premonition, Idril?" Aredhel teased. "You are much too young for foresight. You are a child, and a child should laugh and play with other children, not trouble about their elders."

Engner and the others laughed softly to break some of the tension, for Aredhel now looked uneasy, and Idril frowned. They did not know that even as a little girl, Idril could read many hearts and could see more accurately into the future than the Eldar were usually allowed.

"You do not believe me," she said in a low voice, and it trembled a little, betraying her.

"It is natural to be frightened for me," Aredhel said tenderly. "But you should not be. I want you to stay here with your father. You must take care of the king for me. He was fretting over me too."

Idril nodded, but she muttered under her breath with bitterness, "My father would not listen to the counsel of a child any more than you have. Neither was he fully convinced by you when last you saw him. You said that you would only seek Fingon and the Sons of Fëanor after, but we both know that is not the case."

This is an uncanny child indeed, Engner thought to himself, and Aredhel frowned. There were moments when she wondered about her little niece. Was the girl simply rude and learned her information through spying, or did she really have an ability to know things that no one else did? When she took on that odd tone when correcting an adult, was she being arrogant, or was she truly wise beyond her years?

"Auntie," Idril pleaded, sounding like the helpless girl-child she should have been. "Please do not leave. If not for your own sake, do not leave for mine. What will I do without you? Auntie... I have no mother, no one. I love you. Do you not care for me at all? Or was I ever just a burden thrust upon you because you are the King's sister, a bouncing brat that you despise?"

"No!" Aredhel bound her in a tight squeeze. "No, Idril! Do not ever think that! I think of you as my own daughter, and indeed the only daughter I shall ever have. I will never bear a daughter...," Aredhel did not know what had possessed her to say the last of that, but it was proven to be a moment of foresight. "I love you more than I have ever loved anyone, and I will return. I promise you that, darling."

And now Idril was weeping. She clung to Aredhel, and the White Lady was forced to ask for assistance. She too was in tears. At last, Idril was torn away from her by a nanny.

Suddenly she cried out, "Oh, Auntie! I will see you again, but when you return to Gondolin, you shall not rest but one night behind these walls! Goodbye, Auntie! I love you and shall miss you terribly!"

And Aredhel answered, "Farewell, Idril, my little darling. I love you more than you will ever know."

Then she let out a command and bolted away, forcing Engner and the others to follow whether they were prepared or not. He sighed. Already she had become a problem! But with every problem, there was a solution, and he was determined to find it. The truth was that some problems have no solution.

Idril watched the travelers leave from the tower window and gazed on in sorrowful thought long after they had gone. When her nanny attempted to distract her, she drove her out of the room with her screaming. She slammed her door shut and locked it and would not take her meals or sleep. When her tutors came for her lessons, she would not let them in.

"I want Auntie!" she would cry.

At last, her father Turgon, the King himself, came to her.

"So you have come, father," she said, making a point of the near resentment in her words. "You have come because I have misbehaved, and you must amend my conduct. Why else would you be here? Certainly not for an amiable consultation!"

"Perhaps it is better that Aredhel is leaving. I fear that you have come to adopt her double-edged sword, her tongue," he answered with a frown. "I know you chased your nanny off because you wanted to be alone, and the tutors repeated the words you have been shouting. Perhaps I have come to comfort you. Did you think of that, my clever little girl?"

Idril stared longingly out the window and kept her back to him with deliberate iciness, "I am not so little, nor clever. If I were truly clever, I would have convinced Auntie to stay."

"Ah, child, do not worry," he tried to reassure her. "I have sent her off with two of my greatest lords and a fine young tracker. She shall be all right."

"Do you really believe that, my father?"

"Aredhel is a fine maiden. Nothing can harm her save the Enemy himself, and Gondolin is unassailable, even if her location could be found."

"It is not for Gondolin I fear," Idril said. "But for my Auntie. She shall not fall into the hands of the Enemy, but shall suffer a fate worse than that."

Turgon said, "Idril, you worry overmuch. Now come and finish your sewing. You must learn to obey your nanny and learn your manners. Now that Aredhel is gone you cannot hide behind her skirts and talk moonshine. You are the Lady of Gondolin now and my heir."

But the stubborn and distressed child tossed the needlework out of the tower window and replied, "King-craft does not include sewing exercises!"

"Idril, if you insist that you are not a little girl than you must act like an adult. Then I shall treat you like one!" Turgon was quickly running out of patience. "I think it was not just Aredhel's influence that has affected you, but you are of the same blood. That is unfortunate, for that cannot be helped. You shall now walk down the stairs, go outside, and fetch that needlework and complete it! There are many things besides king-craft that you need learn! Your succession is not written in stone! You would do well to remember that!"

"Why, because I do not care for sewing? And why must I prove that I am like an adult? Why should you not prove to me that you are an adult! I have seen adults throw peevish tantrums more severe than babies and commit acts that make no sense at all, but they are not children simply because they are bigger! I have never seen you sew!" Idril accused. "Sew me a fine cloak and tell me how it aids you in matters of state and then I shall consider taking up the menial task!"

Turgon was absolutely stunned at such belligerence and amazed at the advanced words tumbling smoothly from the child's mouth. He wondered where she had learned the vocabulary. If he were not so angry and shocked, he would have been bristling with pride. He was so enraged that he left the room and Idril looked down at her feet and controlled her breathing to calm herself, a trick she had learned. Then she called for a servant to bring her food and invite her language tutor in. She had now proved her point and vented her frustration. It was no longer practical to withhold food and ignore the humdrum that awaited her.

"Auntie taught me better than this," she said to herself.


	2. Engner

Engner was satisfied with the company's progress. He contentedly sipped some wine from his water skin as he studied his map earnestly. He tried to see if Turgon had marked any shortcuts for him and was pondering whether he should attempt some of the shortcuts that only the most skilled of trackers knew of. The company had made good speed thus far, but he knew that the White Lady was eager to reach her destination as soon as was possible.

He also wished to avoid the coming winter, and he could not afford any suspicions and misgivings on her part. His worst fear was that there would be a snowstorm that caused them delay. He had packed as much food and firewood as was reasonable, but the weather was a fickle thing, and Yavanna's wrath could be provoked for the slightest offense to her and her creatures. This was the season for her outbursts, and already frost instead of dew was upon the grass when Engner awoke early in the mornings.

As he was coming to a decision, the White Lady came and sat down beside him. Fortunately, Engner was a tracker, trained to hear the most subtle of sounds. He had barely enough time to conceal his map. Then he put on a business-like face and greeted his stubborn client warmly.

"Lady! What a pleasant surprise! I would have thought that you had taken yourself to bed! We cannot slacken our pace for a maiden's comfort!"

She gave him a sharp look and answered, "I am no little maiden. Set any pace you like, Master Tracker, and I can match it. I was unable to fall asleep, and I came to ask about our itinerary. What is it, then?"

Disconcerted by her defensiveness and wondering how best to answer her question, he fumbled with his water-skin.

"Is that wine?"

She smiled such a luminous smile that Engner could only return it. So far their entire journey, Aredhel had maintained a severe disposition and never smiled once. Now that she was smiling, she became suddenly even more beautiful. He understood for a moment what all the fuss was about among the bachelors of Gondolin. She reached out for his water-skin, and he gave it to her, blushing.

"Yes, it is wine," he confessed.

"What kind?"

"White, from my father's vineyards."

"Really?" her smile broadened. "I shall have to steal a few sips from you, then. I am afraid that I have a terrible weakness for white wine."

"You are welcome to drink as much as you like, my Lady," he said. "You have my consent."

She took a long draught and thanked him in a low voice. Then she began to inquire about the road again.

"You need not concern yourself about the road, Lady," he reassured her. "I know a short cut that will cut the time to Hithlum in half."

"Is that so?"

"Aye," he said confidently.

She gave him a dark look and said, "Could you tell me where we are now? You must forgo your secrecy with me, Tracker."

"Where we are will not matter in a few hours," he said curtly. "I suggest that you use this time to rest."

Aredhel said dryly, "You honestly believe that I do not know where we are or that you would have it so? I saw the map that you attempted to hide from me. We have dozens of maps with us. Why should you need one more that you will not allow anyone else to see?"

So she had seen him stow away the map, or perhaps she had been watching him silently as he pondered it.

"I do not doubt your intelligence, Lady," Engner answered with the greatest caution. "But I do not wish you to burden yourself with the matter of the road. That is my area. Besides, you have never been outside of Gondolin, how could you possibly know-"

"I was not born in Gondolin like you, pup, and I can read maps as well as you, if not better. I am not ignorant of topography. We are in the Brithiach, Engner, and now may I suggest a new course?" she interrupted.

"What would that be?" he asked quietly, amazed and angry.

"Turn South, not North."

Engner sprang to his feet, "Why! Whatever for? Fingon and his kingdom is to the North and we have already come so far-"

"I will not ride to Hithlum," she insisted.

"What!"

"My first intention was to find the Sons of Fëanor, not Fingon! Though he is my elder brother and I love him well, I would be worse off in his halls than ever I was in Gondolin! I did not understand my brother's wisdom, that I would be safer in the North, nearer to the Enemy! Fingon was ever harsh with me in my youth, no more than a brother should be, but we were never close. Celegorm is my kinsman, and we were never apart in the early years and I have not laid eyes upon him in ages."

"But if you would have us turn back now and visit the Kinslayers, you would be defying the King's orders!"

"Hold your tongue when you speak of my kin, Master Tracker! I am not committing an act of treason! I promised my brother nothing, and Turgon gave me leave to go wherever I desired so long as I did not endanger Gondolin. I shall visit Fingon, but after I have been with the rest of my kin. Therefore, if he ever believes that I deceived him, I shall have kept my word in part."

"We shall go nowhere other than where I was ordered so long as I am your guide under the command of King Turgon!"

"You will listen and obey, knave!" she cried, and she seemed to grow tall and menacing as the volume and inflection of her voice rose steadily. "Even if you were a nobleman, your word is nothing against mine! You are no Elvin-lord! You have no power, and certainly no more than Ecthelion or Glorfindel, our companions. You are but a commoner and stooped even lower so by tracking wild beasts and bearing dull messages to and fro. Turgon is not here, and even if he were, he and I are evenly matched. I am the Lady of Gondolin, sister to the King and daughter to the king before him! Do you deny my royal heritage?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then obey me as you would the King!"

Engner recovered himself and said calmly, "I was warned of your stubbornness, Lady, and I will not submit so easily to it."

They debated fiercely for several minutes more, and Ecthelion and Glorfindel and the others awoke at the sound of their voices, wondering what was going on and when they would set out. Their answer came when Engner finally stumbled away in wrath to find firewood. There was no dissuading the will of the White Lady. When he returned, he drew out the map to decide which way would be safest to Himlad. It may rob them of precious time, but the least he could do was to ensure the King's sister's safety.

They turned south, as Aredhel had commanded, and they sought admittance into Doriath. It was the safest way that Engner knew of to cut into Himlad. Any other way would mean too much delay or would pose a risk to the company. Their kin dwelt there, but they were not of their kind.

The Sindar was a branch of the Eldar that dwelt in Beleriand and ruled a vast majority of the land, and Doriath was a small part of King Thingol's realm. Thingol was a powerful monarch, and he had little love for most of the Noldor. There was doubt that he would allow them to step foot upon his land, for he would call it trespass and drive them away for certain.

A great uneasiness was upon the riders when they approached the borders of Doriath, knowing that they were being watched from the trees. But Aredhel rode with her head held up high as befitting her station and cried out in a clear voice so that all the birds perched upon their branches took flight and the forest creatures stirred.

There was a moment of complete silence and stillness. Though the animals had fled noisily, the Wardens of Doriath were soundless as they moved about through the trees. Engner expected a dart in his back at any moment, for he could feel disapproving eyes upon him. When he looked about in alarm, however, there was nothing to be seen or heard but the rustling of leaves and the hoarse whisper of the wind. The Wardens of Doriath were famous for their art of concealment and accuracy with the bow. The feeble-minded might have believed that they somehow enchanted themselves and shifted into the shape of the stuff of the woods, rock, bough, leaf, and acorn. Others were convinced that they could make themselves invisible with sorcery, but that was a fantasy. Magic was no match for skill.

At last the birds returned to their branches, thinking the commotion had ended. The tension was so great that Engner and the others dared not move. They knew not what word of salutation they should utter. But Aredhel spurred her horse forward, undaunted. She knew there were guards amongst the trees, or upon parapets somewhere, or perhaps hidden beneath the earth, but they could not harm her without reason. If she trespassed, they could not punish her because she had had no warning as yet.

"Daro! " came a harsh command from the trees, sending the birds in flight once more with the sudden sound.

"Elen síla lúmmen umintílmo! " Aredhel answered.

Two Elves sprang from parapets in the trees and raised their bows warily, arrows already fitted to the string. One was dark-haired and tall with gray eyes that were bright and keen. He was Mablung. The Elf beside him was golden-haired and beautiful with strikingly blue eyes. He was none other than Beleg Strongbow, famed in later days to have been the greatest archer of all time.

"You must not come any further," Mablung spoke. "You are only a furlong from the Girdle, and if you step through it, you shall become lost and fall into a dark sleep that you cannot wake from."

"But we only seek admittance into Doriath in order to lessen our journey's length and peril. Can you not guide some weary travelers through the Girdle of Melian?" Engner begged.

"We know you Noldoli," Beleg said. "One can always tell by your eyes. We know also your names. I must ask why the White Lady Aredhel has come so far south from Hithlum."

"I am exactly who you say I am," she answered, "and I am not journeying to Hithlum but to Himlad."

Their eyes narrowed at the mention of that place, for they knew who dwelt there. The Sindar had even less love for the Sons of Fëanor than the Noldor.

Mablung said, "Do you not know the laws of this land? Surely the daughter of a king should."

"Of course," Aredhel was beginning to get angry.

"Did not Thingol once say: into Hithlum, the Noldor have leave to dwell, and in the highlands of Dorthonion, and in the lands east of Doriath that are empty and wild. But elsewhere there are many of my people, and I would not have them restrained of their freedom, still less ousted from their homes. Beware how you princes of the West bear yourselves! Into Doriath none shall come but only such as I call as guests or those that seek me in great need."

"We do not seek to dwell in your lands," Aredhel explained. "We ask only to use the Road and avoid the winter that chases at our heels. There is no other way that is quick enough to outrun the season, and none without its own perils."

But Mablung denied her and said, "You may by no means pass through the Realm of King Thingol. You must ride beyond the Girdle to the south, or to the north. I care not which way you choose. The speediest way is by the paths that lead east from the Brithiach and through Dimbar and the north-marches of this kingdom until you pass the Bridge of Esgalduin and the Fords of Aros and come to the lands behind the Hill of Himring. There dwell, as we believe, Celegorm and Curufin, but the brothers are often absent from the place in times of war, and the road is perilous."

"But that is such a long way!" Engner and Aredhel cried as one.

"That is the only road to Himlad, my Lady. The only other would be through Ered Gorgoroth, and it is a truly evil place," Beleg said courteously. "Even such fellows as Ecthelion and Glorfindel here could not guard you from the monsters that were bred there during the darkest hour of our world's creation."

"We are truly sorry that we cannot help you," Mablung added.

"May I implore your glorious lord that he accept me as his guest for a night, then?" Aredhel suggested. "For my brother and I are on good terms with him, in so far as I know. Never have we denied him anything, and we are far from his lands and do not seek to steal them from him. We have received every intention of friendship from King Thingol. Would he turn the White Lady of Gondolin, sister of King Turgon, away and send her from his gate like a beggar without the slightest concern of what befell her upon the road?"

"Would Turgon be so generous with one of our own people if one of them came knocking at the very gate of Gondolin?"

Aredhel was stricken dumb by that impertinent but valid comment. She knew that if King Thingol himself came to Gondolin's gates with no more than the desire to ease his journey to some distant land, he would be turned away for the sake of secrecy. Doriath was no less stringent with its rules in order to protect the Hidden Kingdom, and there were laws that were as sacred to them as they would be to the Golodrim, and the Sindar treated anyone of Noldoli descent with suspicion because of the Sons of Fëanor. There was nothing she could say to persuade these wardens. They were as sincere in their resolve as the standing trees.

"Very well, Wardens of Doriath," she said at last, defeated. "We shall go on our way. I shall find another course that is not impassible to us. Send King Thingol my regards."

"We shall indeed, Lady. Farwell, and safe journey to you!" they replied.

Then they climbed back up into the trees, and Aredhel and the others turned away. When they had put several leagues between them and the border of Doriath, they held a congregation to decide what was to be done now that the Wardens of Doriath had rejected them.

"Perhaps we should turn our course to Hithlum," Engner said. "We are a little out of our way, but-"

"No!" Aredhel intervened. "If I were to go there before I had the chance to see my kin, I would never have another opportunity! Fingon loathes the Sons of Fëanor with his whole being. He would never allow me to leave his court if he knew that I desired to see them again!"

"Then what does the White Lady suggest we do?" Ecthelion demanded. "There is need of us in Gondolin, and I have no love for your beloved Celegorm any more than Fingon."

"You have little love for anyone but yourself," Aredhel said acidly.

The two of them glared at each other.

"The winter shall not wait for us," Glorfindel reminded them all quietly. "The worst thing that we could allow to happen is to still be in the middle of our journey and far from aid when winter rages."

"Already you have delayed, seeking to trespass into Hidden Kingdoms and demanding special treatment from your brother's allies for his own sake," Engner ranted. "I know in my heart that Turgon would be outraged that we brought you to the Sons of Fëanor. You will likely reveal the location of Gondolin to them and have a good laugh over it!"

"How dare you!" she hissed at him. "How dare you!"

"Turgon may never let any of us return to Gondolin, or he may forfeit our freedom and our lives!"

"Enough!" Aredhel said with finality. "We must make camp and decide in the morning if there is no other way."

"Tell me, Engner, how are our supplies?" Aredhel asked.

"We have a rather ample amount, but I do not know if we have enough to last us if we are to take the Warden of Doriath's' advice," he replied. "We must reduce our rations to a more meager portion from here on. If there is a blizzard and we are forced to take refuge for a while, it shall not be enough."

"You do not know of any other way?"

"No. No I do not."

"What of Ered Gorgoroth? Was that not an option? Has anyone ever used the pass?"

"No one but the bravest and most foolhardy!" Engner said. "I have entered the place once, and I do not care to do so again. It is far too perilous, and if it had been up to our own decision, we would have gone any other way. We were forced to take that path because Orcs were upon us."

"So far south?" Aredhel was very interested. "And what did you encounter in Gorgoroth?"

"Horrors that I cannot begin to describe," Engner said curtly. "I would rather not speak of it. Looking back, I would say that we should have taken our chances with the Orcs."

"Is it not true that the way through the Ered Gorgoroth would bring us all the more swiftly to Himlad? We do not have to turn direction at all afterward!"

"Nan Dungortheb is called by another, more accurate name. The ravines of Nan Dungortheb are named the Valley of Dreadful Death, and the mountains of Ered Gorgoroth are called the Mountains of Terror. The paths of Dungortheb are the least trodden, for too many of those that risk that path are never seen again. It is there that the power of Sauron and the power of Melian the Maia herself meet and form together to make creatures of such horror and monstrosity that it might darken the sun to speak of them. There are creatures that are even more ancient than the valley itself. Only a fool would go there."

"I would."

"What!"

"You reassure me that these supplies will last us back to the Brithiach, through Dimbar, and past the Bridge and the Fords!"

"I will not guide you through that place!"

"Then I will go alone." They stared daggers at each other until she said, "I do not wish to argue any longer. We must compromise somehow. I shall go hunt, and if I catch something we take the paths that I choose. If I fail, then we shall take the long way. Agreed?"

"Very well, but I do not see how a maiden such as you shall catch anything here," he scoffed. "There are few animals to begin with, and it takes great skill to bring them down."

"You doubt my prowess as a Huntress?" Aredhel's eyes flashed.

"Hunting is long and weary work."

Aredhel turned away from him and strayed forth from the company, a determined set to her jaw. When she returned from the cover of the trees, Engner was startled to see her in a male's breeches and a short, sleeveless tunic. Her hair was tied back in a crude pony-tail, and she carried a bow and quiver of arrows. Instead of the plain and quite boring shoes common for maidens, she wore sturdy, knee-high boots.

"Should you not cut your hair as well?" Engner said in disgust. "You might as well. You have completely unsexed yourself! Besides, a hunter never grows their hair out too long, else it would blow into their faces and ruin their aim."

"Ready the fire," she said. "I shall return soon."

"Yes, Milady."

Engner laughed until it felt as though his sides would split. But Glorfindel and Ecthelion were piling up wood and setting fire to kindling. He glared at them, knowing what a waste it was to burn up any of their supplies. They were rather swift to obey the White Lady's orders. They kept their eyes upon their tasks. Ecthelion began splitting apart logs with his hands, as any of the Eldar could.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked. "Do you really think she will bring something back?"

"You do not know the ways of women-folk, my young friend," they answered. "And certainly not those of the White Lady and Huntress Aredhel Ar-Fenial."

Then Engner was silent and gave their words more weight. He recalled some courtly gossip that both of them had been avid suitors of the king's sister and had ultimately failed to win her heart. Ecthelion had been flatly refused, and Glorfindel's task was proven impossible. What was it? Thinking hard, he remembered that it had been to best her hunting prowess. Perhaps she was truly a skilled Huntress and not just a braggart calling a bluff. He hoped that she would return empty-handed. Not only would it save face, but he dreaded traveling into Nan Dungortheb. He doubted that even with the great lords of Gondolin by their side, they could chance it.

Several hours later, Aredhel appeared, dragging the large carcass of a deer. She cast it to Ecthelion, and he promptly began to skin it as Glorfindel prepared the cooking gear. The White Lady packed away her bow and quiver and began to clean her hunting knife that had delivered the final blow to her prize. Engner could scarce believe his eyes. The deer was a great male with horns sharp as swords. He had never taken an animal like it of such size.

"Why are you just standing there, Engner?" Aredhel said. "Even the deer did not freeze and stare so before I slew it."

Engner and Glorfindel laughed good-naturedly.

"The others are helping to cook us a meal, perhaps the best that we shall ever have while we are upon the road. I hunted the creature, you must aid in its preparing if you wish to eat."

Engner sat grudgingly beside Ecthelion and began slicing chunks of meat for storage. He was thoroughly humiliated and very unsatisfied. They had enough meat to last them the journey to Himlad, if they went Aredhel's way.

"In Himlad, Celegorm is always hunting," she told her companions. "It has a vast amount of forested land; a hunter's paradise. He provides for his table with his own game. Anywhere else, meat is seldom consumed and reserved only for holidays. Not in Himlad! There is meat every night. The halls are decorated with stuffed beasts and the soft furs of animals. Celegorm uses their bones as plates and utensils, skulls as bowls, horns as glasses, and hides as water-skins. Nothing is wasted, as it should be."

"Does he drink their blood as well?" Engner asked blatantly.

She gave him a cold, hard stare and replied, "Of course not, for too much of it would make anyone very ill. It is almost like poison and can even kill."

After the meal, he strode away from the company and cast aside his clothing. Then he dunked himself into the stream nearby. Aredhel came to seek him out. Her triumphant laughter sounded strange from under the water, for they could not drown out sound. He tried to hide quickly. Though the water was not clear enough to reveal his nakedness, the White Lady's eyes upon him in such a state was enough cause for his shame.

"You do know what this means?" she said. "I proved that I am a Huntress and proved you wrong."

"Aye," Engner sank to his knees, still uncomfortable.

"Tucking your tail between your legs, are you?" Aredhel said in a devious whisper, her eyes dancing.

"You are no lady! And you are still in a male's clothing. You seem to have no modesty at all!"

"High-born, yes," Aredhel began taking delicate steps into the water and closer to him. Fortunately, she did not discard her clothing. "A lady, I am not, but I still have my modesty, Engner. Would you prefer me in 'female' clothing? I think not. I know you males, even more so when I wear your garb and walk your ways. You would infinitely prefer to see me sky-clad. Admit it."

Feeling even more awkward, he turned his back to her, involuntarily trying to cover himself even though he was safe. Aredhel enjoyed putting him into his place and taking advantage of his awkwardness. She waded towards him and placed her hands upon his bare shoulders and pressed herself against him. For an Elf and one so young, he was rather broad-shouldered and had lean muscles. With a sharp intake of breath, he tore himself away and swam several paces from her. His body had responded to her deliberate advances.

"Is your blade sharp?" she asked, her voice once again serious.

"Such disgusting filth from the mouth of one so high-born!" Engner's voice trembled with anger.

"And such a dull and filthy mind even from one so low-born!" Aredhel retorted. "I am talking about your sword!"

The edge vanished from his voice, "Oh. It is common steel, sharp enough, I suppose."

"Well, go and whet it. We set out tomorrow and you may have need of it."

"We will not!"

"You lost the bet. You must be true to your word!"

"It is against the King's command!"

She swam towards him and splashed him. He was so irate that he forgot his awkwardness and clutched her. He was sorely tempted to drown her. She was laughing and soaking wet. Rivers of water dripped from her long dark hair. She had loosened it after the successful hunt. Her blue eyes were shining, and her white skin was luminous and lustrous when wet. He realized that she was not an angry stranger or a duty that he had failed to his King, but a very beautiful maiden. He forgot Turgon utterly for a moment as he looked upon her. And since he wanted to make her as angry as possible, and also because he wanted it, he kissed her. She pulled away and cried out with rage as he laughed.

"You shall not touch me again, Tracker!"

"I do not plan on it," he replied. "But remember it was you that touched me first. We shall have it your way, but do not say later that I did not warn you."

Engner cannot be blamed for his feeling of trepidation as the company came near the land of Nan Dungortheb. Their road was between the valleys of Ered Gorgoroth and the north fences of Doriath, but Dungortheb was too close for his comfort. Ecthelion and Glorfindel must have felt it too. There was a menace about that place. Aredhel, however, seemed undaunted and as determined as ever.

"Be careful not to stray far from the road," Engner told the company. "Note this, Aredhel! There are beasts there that drink blood and have a thousand eyes while the shadows have only one. It creeps up upon you so that no one has seen its full horror and lived to tell the tale."

"A creature with a thousand eyes that drinks blood?" Aredhel mused. "I should like to catch one. It would make a fine trophy to boast of when we reach Himlad and prove the existence of such things."

Engner ignored her, "It is a breeding ground for evil things, and the land itself is dangerous. It is full of ravines and sharp rocks. There is no proper food and the waters are poisoned. Since it is so close to the volcano, the ground is unstable. Several explosions and rumblings may occur unexpectedly."

"And the air smells of sulfur," Aredhel added. "You have trod the ravines of Nan Dungortheb, fleeing from Orcs as though they were Balrogs. It seems that you survived, why should we not?"

"I have trod a few leagues of it with my teacher," he answered. "Enough for me to get an idea of its geography. Travel in a small pack in this place for too long, and death inevitably finds the adventurer. The horror stories inspired by this place are enough reason to use such extreme caution."

"Shall we camp here?" Glorfindel asked.

"It seems safe enough," Aredhel said, "and I am anxious to rest before we set out."

"It seems safe," Engner said, a little too sharply. "Let us hope it is."

All seemed well as dusk fell, and afterward when night descended upon them. But Aredhel awoke during the night to the screaming of some wild animal in the distance. It was a dying animal, no doubt. Many years of hunting had taught her the sound of death. Her breath came out as steam in the cold night air. Darkness engulfed them all, and the chill was in her bones. The fire had been neglected. Only white ash was left of the roaring fire they had built before they slept. Engner said the fire would keep away the creature with a thousand eyes, hopefully.

No one had taken watch that night. Ecthelion and Glorfindel were sleeping in their furs, unperturbed. They slept like children. Engner had insisted that he could go a fortnight without sleep, and so he had allowed them all to rest, for they were all highborn. It was not fitting that he should get more shut-eye than they. Well, he was nowhere in sight now.

Ridiculous young pup, Aredhel snorted. What is he trying to prove with such a show? One of those creatures might have come upon us all in our sleep. Where is he now, this brave tracker?

Perhaps he had finally lost patience with her. She could not blame him, for though it was never her intention to drive him off, she felt she knew the lands better than he and had not asked Turgon for a guide to dog her every step and spy for him. All she had asked for was a small escort to see her safely, as though she could not defend herself! Instead, her sweet brother had thrust Engner upon her as some cruel jape. If he was gone, she was glad. Ecthelion and Glorfindel would obey her every command. They were lordlings and males. They were easy to bend to her will. She was tempted to shake Ecthelion awake and send him for fodder for the fire, but she thought that unwise. She knew from experience that the Lord of the Fountains was ill-tempered when woken from his sleep, and Glorfindel would want to go searching for Engner immediately. She would fetch whatever she could find in this desolate place for the fire herself.

Slowly, she rose from her blankets. Her joints were stiff from sleep upon the ground. Once, she might have slept as well as a newborn upon the bare earth. She had been parted from Nature for far too long. How many times had she slipped away from her home in her youth to meet Celegorm and camp under the stars, pointing out the known constellations and inventing their own?

She drew out one of the lamps that the Noldor were famed for. Neither wind nor rain could quench them. The fire was imprisoned in a mysterious blue crystal, and Aredhel was grateful for its pale beam. She walked several furlongs from her camp and searched in vain for shrubs or twigs. She walked a little farther and realized that she had crossed into the borders of Nan Dungortheb. The others were far away now and there was clearly nothing out here to make a fire.

She turned to return to the camp, but then she heard a strange clicking sound behind her. She dropped her lamp in alarm and it rolled away into a wide crevice of rock, the light fading and vanishing. It must have been a very deep crevice. She groped and stumbled in the dark for it for a moment, then thought better of it as the clicking sound became louder and nearer. She tried to flee, but she was too slow. A large black shape, indeed the monster with a thousand eyes, sprang with a venomous hiss from the top of the ravine. She drew her sword by instinct and crouched low, wondering if she could fit into that crevice. It reached for her before she could test it herself, and parried and thrust at the creature desperately. It was surprisingly swift for its size, dodging her and then springing forward with its pincers. It clutched her in its grasp, squeezing until she could hardly breathe. She let out a scream and tried to stab her way to escape, and the creature let out another hiss and thrust its own weapon, a stinger, at her throat. Darkness overcame her.

Engner heard her cry and dropped the roots he had been digging up for the fire nearly a mile away. He had taken no lamp or brand of flame, thinking it wiser to use the darkness for cover since it was only him. A lamp would not save him if something came upon him alone and would only attract unwanted visitors. Unfortunately, Aredhel had not thought of that. He rushed back to the camp, not daring to call out until he was near a blazing fire again. He reached the camp and awoke his companions, stripping the blankets from them and shaking them violently.

"Something has happened to Aredhel!" he could barely contain his voice at a whisper.

"Did she stray?"

"I heard her scream a moment ago. That cannot be a good sign!"

"In which direction?" they asked.

"That way! To the ravines of..." he faltered.

The two lords sprang to their feet. Glorfindel quickly began work on the fire while Ecthelion grabbed their weapons. Engner searched for their lamp and discovered that Aredhel must have taken it with her. He began to help with the fire. Once it sparked, they each took a burning brand and searched.

"Aredhel!" they cried, fire in one hand and swords in the other.

But the creature had drugged Aredhel so that she could not respond and was dragging her back to its den. It was one of the offspring of Ungoliant the giant Spideress. She had once been a Maia, but she allied with Morgoth and was responsible for draining the life and light from the Two Trees in the time before time. Her spawn did not devour light as she once had, but preyed instead upon Men and Elves whenever they could catch them.

The three elves soon spotted a beam of pale blue light. Engner reached inside a breach of stone and lifted out his lantern. Its light revealed Aredhel's sword lying abandoned with dark black blood upon its edge.

"Aye Elbereth," the lordlings sighed. "What does this mean?"

"It must have been the creature with a thousand eyes," Engner said in despair. "It was something large with many legs. I cannot be certain how many by these tracks. She managed to wound it, but it has her now."

He sat upon the shelf of rock and tears came to his eyes.

"She is lost."

"No!" Engner said fiercely. "She is alive! I said it has her, but she is not dead. These creatures usually drug their victims and carry them off. We still have time. I can follow these tracks!"

"If you could, do you not realize that there are likely others? There are too few of us. We should have never come here. We must flee before more of those things come after us!" Ecthelion said.

"If we left now with all haste, we might reach the borders of Doriath again. The Sindarin wardens would not allow us to enter their lands without dire need. We do not need shelter there anymore, but we could use their strength in swords. They may know how to handle these creatures, since they dwell so close. By tomorrow morning, we shall have allies. Aredhel may be dead by then, but there is a glimmer of hope, more so than if the three of us continued this search alone. If we are too late, at least we shall live to tell Turgon what became of his sister. He has a right to know, though we shall all be disgraced for failing her."

"I will not go with shame before the king!" Engner answered.

"You only wish to save your pride, not his sister!" Ecthelion accused.

"I was chosen to guide the White Lady safely. That is true. But I care not for Turgon's commands now. I have already broken them by letting Aredhel bring us here. But I cannot abandon her in this way! A horrible death awaits her!"

He strode forward and the Elves tried to hold him back, amazed at the change in him, for it had seemed to them that Engner harbored nothing but hatred for Aredhel in his heart. Now he was so determined to save her that they could not prevent him, and they were older and stronger then he was. They argued heatedly. Engner even drew his sword and threatened to kill them both. It was then that the lordlings realized they could not prevent him and decided to let him be. They offered him the lamp.

"It shall be of more use with you."

Engner snatched it and spat, "Cowards!"

Glorfindel at least had the grace to blush. Ecthelion's face was a cold mask. Engner turned his back on them and began the climb up the ravines. He tucked the lamp safely within the folds of his cloak and used his hands to grope forward. A good fire was enough to keep the creatures at bay, but a little lamp would only attract them. He glanced back at Ecthelion and Glorfindel and sighed.

I should have gone with them. I go now to join Aredhel, perhaps, but at least it cannot be said I abandoned her when I could have tried to save her. They are lordlings, they shall be forgiven. But I would likely be exiled if I returned.

As he climbed, the two lordlings hesitated. They had both loved the White Lady once, and their honor compelled them to follow their guide.

"This does not seem right," Glorfindel said.

"Of course it is not right, but we cannot make it so."

"You go on, I will follow Engner."

"What? You would have me flee alone?"

Glorfindel was the first to grasp the stone wall, but before he could start the climb, several dark shapes appeared from pits and crevices in the rock. They did not notice Engner with his lamp stowed away, but they noted the Elvin-lords with their burning brands of flame and their shining helms and cloaks. They sprang down upon them, and the Elves drew their flashing swords and retreated. They barely escaped with their lives that night.

Engner might have laughed if it were not improper to do so as well as risky. Running was the only option the two had, most likely. The creatures had tough hides, pincers like scorpions, and deadly stingers that could kill or paralyze a victim instantly. He supposed he should thank them, if he ever had the chance. They had thrown the creatures off his track and exposed their den for him. He could only hope that he would not run into any others.

He entered one of the tunnels the creatures had come from. A foul stench hung in the damp air, and it was blacker than the night inside. He used his lamp to light his way and explored. This was a nest for the beasts, and a graveyard for any other living thing. Skeletons of all sorts of animals littered the floor. There were bones of Men and Elves and Orcs. Great webs barred his way from certain passageways, webbing that was thicker than rope. It was sticky and resilient, but fortunately Noldoli blades were the best in the land. His blade was able to cut through the tough cord-like webbing.

After searching for what seemed like hours, Engner began to despair. There was no sign of Aredhel, and he was hopelessly lost. The spiders would not be gone long from their murky den. They would likely return before first light, for they could not abide sunlight. They would be angry and hungry from the chase, unless they had caught Glorfindel and Ecthelion.

He decided to risk death and called for her. "Aredhel!"

He waited his spirit low.

Then, beyond hope, he was answered by a strangely muffled voice, "Ecthelion? Glorfindel?"

He leapt to his feet at once, "Keep speaking and I shall find you. You sound very near!"

"Hurry!"

He came upon her at last, bound in webbing from head to toe and tethered to the den wall.

"Where are you?" she whispered.

"Right here."

"Where? I cannot see anything!"

"There is nothing to see."

"Who is there? Engner. Where are the others?"

"They fled, but who knows if the spiders pursued them to the last? There are none here, so I must assume they have a whole pack of them on their tail. The chances are not good. I pray that they escape."

"You abandoned them?"

"They abandoned you!"

He reached out and touched the webbing. It was thick, and Aredhel was drowsy and sickly from the sting. There was little she could do to get herself out.

"I thought that I was dead when the thing poisoned me. Then I awoke and found myself here, and the thing was in my face. I had to look at each of its thousand eyes. Spiders! I always hated the damn things! It was about to sting me again, likely to begin the liquefying process, when there was noise outside. I called for you, and then it left me. So did the others. I suppose they do not trust to leave one of their own kind with their prey. The guard would likely take the spoils and let the others go hungry."

"Luckily the creatures do not drink dead blood, nor do they have only one poison. I am glad they did not use the other upon you."

He began to cut the strings and caught Aredhel as she fell, still paralyzed by the poison.

"I still cannot see!" she cried. "They blinded me!"

"Screaming about it will only thwart us!"

"How long will I be blind?"

"I am sure it will wear off in time."

He lifted her in his arms and began to carry her. She moaned and laid her head upon his breast. He put the lamp in his mouth and retraced his steps as best as he could. Light fell upon their faces and they stepped out into open air again.

"It is good to get away from that smell!" Engner muttered

But Aredhel pricked up her ears and whispered, "The spiders are returning! At least one is. I hear him!"

Engner sprang behind a boulder and set her down. He tucked the lamp away again. Then he gathered several large stones, ducked behind the boulder and lie in wait. The creature slipped into its den silently. Several moments later, they heard it scream and click with rage.

"The fly has escaped your net," Aredhel said bitterly to herself.

The spider crawled out again, hissing with wrath. Engner aimed and cast a rock with all of his strength. It hit its mark, causing little damage but catching the spider off guard and off balance. It tipped over upon its side and Engner tossed his largest rock so that it fell into the ravine, a long drop. It twitched its legs and was still. Then Engner and Aredhel breathed a sigh of relief.

It was only a moment of respite, however. Engner lifted her upon his back and had to climb to the top of the ravine. There was no sense in going back now. The creatures would be waiting for them. He carried her as far as he could, then chose a site to rest. Only after he had a good fire going did he at last collapse with weariness.

"Can you see?" he asked her.

"I can make out shapes and forms. By tomorrow my sight shall perhaps be fully restored," she said confidently.

"And can you move?"

She twitched her fingers and tried to stretch her limbs and raise her arms, but she could not.

"I can move my fingers, nothing more."

"There is food enough to last us for three days. If we return to our camp we shall have enough for a fortnight. We shall have need of all that we can get, but you should take a morsel. I think you need it after the horrors you have faced."

"Spare the food!" she said proudly. "I still feel ill and if I eat, I fear I shall only regurgitate it."

"You will eat even if I have to stuff it down your throat!" Engner insisted. "And since you cannot move, you cannot resist me!"

"That is true, knave. How you must love this! Very well. I shall take a mouthful, nothing more."

She opened her mouth and he gave her a heel of bread and a few drops of water. Sure enough, she retched a few moments afterward. Engner gave her water to rinse out her mouth.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?" she said bitterly.

"Not at all," he answered. "I hate to see you in this condition."

"I despise it all the more."

Aredhel had never experienced such vulnerability and she was ashamed and humiliated. She had brought this suffering upon herself with her recklessness. She did not even know what had become of Ecthelion and Glorfindel. She always thought Ecthelion was too stiff and Glorfindel too meek, but she liked them both. She would never wish harm upon them.

Engner was also depressed and downcast. He wanted to wait for a few days in the hope that the rest of the company would find them. It was too risky to trek them back through Nan Dungortheb, especially since Aredhel was incapacitated still by the venom. But no one came. The others had either been slain or abandoned them. They would report to the king of their misfortunes, and Turgon's mingled wrath and grief would be great. Engner wondered if he could ever return to Gondolin after this fiasco.

He sat upon a few stones in gloom. Aredhel had recovered her strength, as well as her wits. She crept beside him and took his hand.

"Do not despair," she told him. "I am unhurt. All that was wounded was my pride because you saved me in time."

"And what of the others? We may never know what became of them. I could have avoided this whole disaster. It was my duty to see us safely to Fingon. I have yet to pay the price."

"This was my doing, not yours," Aredhel corrected. "I would not be dissuaded. I manipulated you, so the blame is mine."

"At least you are safe now, I suppose."

He rose and lay upon the blankets. Aredhel hesitated, and then joined him. He was astonished, but before he could protest, she spoke.

"I have not thanked you for rescuing me after the hell I have put you through. Now I shall."

She brushed his cheek with a butterfly-light touch, and then kissed him. Her lips went to the top of his chest and began to travel down as she began to shrug off her cloak. And suddenly he found himself kissing her. His hands and lips seemed to move of their own accord, a fire in his flesh rushing through him. His hands began to explore her arms, the inside of her sleeves, to tease the soft skin of her thigh hidden by her skirts. Aredhel's skin was feverish to the touch. He was half in a daze as she raised his shirt up and away. His shock and desire completely overcame him until she began to fumble with his belt and something else. That was too much. He felt his loins responding and felt ashamed. He shook his head and pushed her away. Now she was astonished.

"What is wrong?" she demanded.

"That is no decent way to thank someone!"

"Then what if I told you it is not as much an expression of gratitude then it is of… passion?"

"You want something from me," he said suspiciously.

"What do you take me for!"

"Am I supposed to believe that after all this time you said you despised me, this one act of loyalty has turned your heart? Others have done much and more to win you. How do I know you are not trying to manipulate me now?"

"Why should I? Am I not pleasing to you? Any other Elf would gladly welcome me to their bed!"

"That is true. Any Elf would welcome you, so long as they knew there was no cruel trick awaiting them."

"There is no trick! I promise this is no ploy! I thought you felt… the same. I do not understand. Why else would you search for me when all the others had abandoned me?"

"Honor. Duty," Engner spoke only in half truths.

"I do not believe you. Kiss me and I shall forgive your lies."

He rose, saying as he walked away, "Cover yourself, my lady. This is entirely inappropriate. If Turgon knew that I had touched you, he would likely exile me, and I have already failed him. I will not betray his trust. The poison must have clouded your mind, my lady. Therefore, we will pretend this never happened."

Furious, Aredhel covered herself and followed him, shouting, "Halt! I command you!"

He stopped in his tracks. She stood before him. She had never been rejected before, though she had rejected countless others. She was frustrated and torn. She had vowed never to wed or give herself to anyone for fear she would be consumed and lose a part of herself forever. She was now willing to break that oath for an elf that refused her, and that only made her love him all the more. He could resist her charms and battle wills with her. He was the equal she thought never existed. She had never felt anything more than passive attraction to anyone; seducing suitors she wanted favors of with chaste kisses and words. She had practically thrown herself into Engner's arms. Her body had almost betrayed her, but she did not feel relieved.

"Kiss me," she ordered. "You cannot refuse a daughter of Kings!"

"Yes I can."

He kissed her hand with courtesy, though his heart and loins ached. Aredhel was tempted to demand more. She had the power to do so, but she would not abuse it. Instead, she hardened her heart and spoke steadily.

"Of course you are right. I do not know what I was saying. Let us leave this place and forget that this ever happened. It was a mistake. But I am still anxious to see Celegorm. No doubt he will welcome me gladly. I only wish I had arrived sooner. We shall tarry no more. Then you and I can avoid each other."


	3. The Dark Elf

They found themselves in Himlad at last without further incident. Aredhel's spirits lifted at once, and the servants recognized her upon sight and received her with the highest honor.

"Where is my coz?" she asked eagerly. "I have something to show him and much to tell him."

"I fear that our Master is absent, milady," the servants answered. "Prince Celegorm is long abroad from home and returns when we least expect him. He was home several days ago, but departed to ride with his brothers Curufin and Caranthir. We do not know when he will return."

Aredhel's smile faded, "That is unfortunate. If only we had arrived sooner. I have not seen Curufin or Caranthir for ages. It would have been pleasant to ride with all three of the brothers."

"We do apologize, milady," the servants were sincere. "Our Master would have surely waited for you, but there was no word of your coming."

"I could not make my intentions to come here known," she sighed. "Now I wish I had sent some sort of message, if only in secret."

"Well, we shall tend to your needs. You have come such a long way, and this winter is becoming worthy of record. It would be best if you did not travel again until spring. Perhaps by then Prince Celegorm will return."

They settled into the guest rooms and were brought food and wine. Engner received his own quarters, much finer than he had expected, but he was most uncomfortable in the house of Celegorm. He was annoyed that after risking their lives and his honor to arrive in Himlad, they had come only to an empty house. What was more, Celegorm was known to wander for a period of months to years. Who knows? He may never return.

"What are we to do now?" he asked of Aredhel.

"We shall do as the servants advise," she answered. "Dwell here until my kinsman returns."

"I advise that as soon as it is possible, we depart to visit Fingon as the King first intended. Celegorm is not here and we are wasting our time."

"We shall wait and then we shall see."

Aredhel was disappointed that Celegorm was gone. She had so wanted to see him again after all these years, especially now. Celegorm was one of the few that she trusted and felt at ease with. She could tell him anything without fear of judgment. Perhaps he could make her understand her feelings for Engner and help her put them aside since he rejected her. Celegorm was not there, but she was glad to be in Himlad. Somehow being in her cousin's house and lands was a comfort in itself. She almost felt a ghost of his presence in the halls

That winter she enjoyed lounging in peace by the fire in his Great Hall. It was quiet and secluded, and Celegorm's servants were attentive and eager to please her. When spring came she wandered the woodlands and became the Huntress again. Himlad was a hunter's paradise. It was green and teeming with game. The servants hunted with her and kept her company, but Engner remained behind, detesting the sport, though Aredhel thought it was much more than petty sport. To her it was sacred and part of life and nature.

The seasons passed and turned into years, and still, Celegorm did not return. The forests were becoming too quiet and familiar, and the White Lady began to receive summons from her impatient brothers. Both Turgon and Fingon wished her to return to Gondolin.

"Even now when they are leagues away from me, they seek to give me orders like some serving wench. No. More like a thrall! Oh, and Fingon is the worst. Why was I cursed with brothers?"

"His lordship and King Fingon have good reason to be angry," Engner jumped to their defense. "You deceived Turgon about where you planned to go and refused all advice. You risked your own safety as well as the safety of others. We all survived, barely escaping with our lives. Only I was willing to search for you."

"You shall have your reward in full, Tracker!" she snapped. "You are loyal to a fault, but certainly not to me. You are my brother's creature. If his favor did not depend upon my safety, you would have seen me dead!"

She rose from her chair, fetching her cloak and walking stick. Engner followed, hurt by her words.

"Aredhel, that is not true. I have never desired your death. I serve you as well as your brother."

He took her hand, but she jerked it back, pausing before she said stiffly, "Never address me so informally again, knave, and never put your hands upon me!"

"But what of… I thought we-"

"We what? Are you speaking of the moment I gave you when I was half senseless?" she shook her head in disgust. "Why is it that from the moment an Elf locks lips with a maiden, he becomes convinced that she is his? I belong to no one but Nessa the Valier."

"No, you belong to no one but yourself."

"I will hear nothing more from you! I would have broken my vows with you once. I am glad you stopped me. It would have been my most terrible mistake. I am going on a long walk to decide what I shall say to my sweet brothers. Never mind the cold or the perils of the wilderness. I am a Huntress, nothing in Nature frightens me, and all things are a part of nature. Besides, if something should happen to me, you need not fear. I would be dead as you wished and Celegorm would be the one blamed, for my passing not you."

"Now I know why they call you the White Lady," Engner lost his temper. "Your heart is made of cold, white ice. You love only a chosen few and twist and manipulate those others that dare to adore you. You are a frigid bitch and a harlot!"

To his surprise, she laughed, "Strange choice of words, and from one that claims to adore me. I suppose they have multiple meanings. If a maiden is willful, she must be a bitch. If she is pretty, she is a harlot and a tease. Even so, at least I have self-dignity. Words do not make the insults true."

Aredhel set out alone after that angry speech, leaving the road first thing. Blinded with rage and pain, she walked on for hours with very little care for direction. She came to the south of Himlad and became curious to know what was on the other side of the river Celon. The hunting parties had come as far as the banks of the river but never beyond. Today she was feeling much more inclined to risks and she wanted to put as many miles between her and Engner as she could. She crossed at the ford and continued on, quickly deciding that she would not return until she had seen whatever it was she wanted to see.

She realized that she had feelings for Engner still and now felt that she had treated him unfairly from the moment they had met. She once saw him only as an obstacle and had fought with him every step of the way. Then after his rejection, she had avoided him. He had made several attempts to renew their relationship. There was a tension between them whenever they were together. Each desired the other but were too proud or ashamed to take action. Celegorm's servants had noticed it and wondered to themselves but did not dare to ask the White Lady about it. If only she had not feared to love and to be loved.

There was some truth to Engner's words. She could be cold, but she never deceived anyone. She had declared to the world her intentions, and yet some fools insisted upon pursing her, despite the fair warning. She was still virginal, and because her suitors could not have her, their love became indifference, even hate. Their reactions appalled her and only served to convince her that love was a blissful and cruel lie. Her family history was not encouraging either. Her grandfather Finwë had remarried soon after his wife's death. She did not blame Fëanor or his sons for hating the offspring of his second wife, Indis. But not even Indis received all of Finwë's heart. The shadow of Miriel never left him, nor his son by her. Indis received nothing but grief. Finwë wanted her to be a mother, not his wife or consort, and the people never liked her. They whispered that she was a usurper and even a whore. And although she gave Finwë children of their own blood, he always favored Fëanor far more.

Aredhel hunted well that night. She began to enjoy the solitude and the new surroundings. She journeyed on since she was not yet tired of the wilderness and before she knew it, she was enmeshed into the shadows of Nan Elmoth. The trees in that wood were the tallest and darkest in all of Beleriand, their branches entangling and entwining, their leaves blanketed the earth as well as the sky. No sunlight ever pierced through the barrier of leaves to touch that region, and so it became a place of unending night. The forest floor was covered with dead leaves and decay, but there was also the smell of flowers to conceal the stench of rot underneath.

At the sight of the wood, she hesitated, for she received mixed messages from the trees. She was far from Himlad now, wandering an alien forest was unwise. But, Aredhel reasoned, the forest was close to the borders of Doriath. It was outside the Girdle of Melian so she was not trespassing into forbidden territory, and no place could be as horrible as Nan Dungortheb. Also, she felt strangely drawn to the wood. The trees began to reach out their branches to her as though they were beckoning. She passed through the great trunks, and into forest of Nan Elmoth.

Melian the Maia had once dwelt in that forest before the Eldar came, and her enchantments influenced it still. The trees had been younger then, sunlight was not quite so scarce. Melian was Queen of Doriath now, and the woods became wild with their Mistress gone. It was no longer what it had been. A new, less benevolent being dwelt in Nan Elmoth now, using what power Melian left behind to command the trees in his name and carve out a private world all of his own. This more ominous being was called Eöl the Dark Elf.

Eöl named himself among the lords of the Teleri tribe and declared that he was Lord of Nan Elmoth. He was of distant relation to Thingol, but he grew ill at ease in Doriath and preferred to live far from the Caves of Menegroth and the myriad of lords and ladies there. He could not outshine people like Celeborn and Artanis or Mablung and Beleg. He began to mire in politics between the Sindar and Teleri. He spoke against respected counselors and advisers and caused trouble wherever he went, trying to divide the two tribes and gain kingship over the Teleri. His schemes backfired, and he fled to the empty forest of Nan Elmoth with a score of petty servants. King Thingol ignored his arrogance, and the Teleri soon declared him their king and Melian their queen. For that very reason, Eöl often felt betrayed by his own people. They had pledged themselves to the Sindar. In spite, he had few dealings with his kin. The only contact he had was the Naugrim, learning of the hammer and the anvil and broadening his knowledge of metals. He was not a bad tradesman either. He invented a metal that was light and supple and black as polished jet and named it galvorn. He took great pride in his work and often wore it upon his breast.

Even though Eöl was a friend of Dwarves, he was no dwarf of the Naugrim. He was as tall as most Elf-males, though stooped by his smith work. He was brawnier and possessed abnormal strength. He was noble but grim of face and had strange features. His hair was silver, not gray or blond, and his skin was pale, and his eyes were red. The Eldar of those days were uncertain if Eöl was truly an albino or not. His hair color was not quite unusual, but the eyes and ghastly skin were. Eöl rejected sunlight, but many argue this was his choice. He could tolerate sunlight in his youth, and he was quite strong and able bodied. Others wondered if he was a vampire, but that speculation was entirely false. Most accepted that Eöl's eyes were red because of some rare trait, and his skin pale due to his neglect of sunlight. He seldom wore anything but black, and his adornments consisted of ruby rings and a silver chain. The rubies brought out the color of his infamous eyes and with them he could see much in the shadows.

It was with these eyes that Eöl espied Aredhel wandering among the trees like a spatter of moonlight in that dark land. Looking carefully, he realized that it was an Elf-maid, and a light was on her face and hair. She made very graceful movements, and she wore white robes to keep away the cold. She was tall and slender with skin that was luminous, not ghastly. Her eyes were blue as the summer sky, and her hair was black as ebony. She had parted it into seven braids and wore only a silver circlet about her brow in decoration.

He realized that this maiden was of the Noldoli. Their maidens often wore their hair in seven braids. The Noldor were different than the other Eldar. Eöl hated them, for they had slaughtered some of the Teleri, and he blamed them for the return of Morgoth. He had half a mind to seize her and make her answer for the crimes of her kin. But she was very fair in his eyes, and he desired her. He was lonely and there were few women in Nan Elmoth except among his servants, none that compared to Aredhel. He was willing to overlook her parentage. He would make her a Telerian bride after all and persuade her to relinquish her kin.

As much as he desired her, he could not greet her at that moment. He must force her to come to him. He summoned his servants and ordered them to report Aredhel's movements to him every hour. He then plotted with them how to ensnare the White Lady.

Aredhel marked her way as she went, certain that Celegorm's servants or even Engner may already be concerned and would follow her tracks so that they could find her. She also did it so that she could find her way back. She understood the warning signs of the weather better than some. An ice storm was encroaching the region, and it would likely bring snow as well. Such conditions could be perilous, and she did not wish to be caught in the storm. But Eöl's servants erased or changed her markings as soon as she left them and watched, silent and as secretive as their master, as Aredhel became hopelessly lost.

At first she refused to believe that she was lost. She was an experienced hunter and tracker. Her only flaw was that she was overconfident. She did not like to second guess herself. She followed her markings, refusing to note that she was only heading deeper into the forest, not out of it, and as the sun set in the world outside, the cold began to gnaw through her clothes like an eager lover. She had survived the passage through the Grinding Ice, but she was not immune to cold, and she despised nothing more than being cold.

"I could have sworn that I have seen that log before," she said aloud after walking a complete circle. "How can this be happening?"

Finally, she began to climb a tree. The sap was sticky, the bark freezing to the touch, but she gritted her teeth and pulled herself up, barely able to wrap herself about the trunk. The forest seemed to have no end. The trees went on in every direction. If only she could see the stars, she could at least know which direction she should go. But the sky was dark and uninviting. There was no moon or stars, only darkness, and it was becoming darker and colder. The moss was unreliable too, for it grew all over the sides of the trees. Cursing, she climbed down and began searching for any kind of shelter. Snow began to fall, swift and heavy. It was a monster of a storm, and almost as cold as it had been at the Grinding Ice. But this was different. She was alone, and no aid would come to her.

A weariness came over her, a weariness that was in the heart rather than in the limb. The snow turned into freezing rain and she was about to give up when suddenly, she saw several glowing lights in the distance. Eöl's servants were carrying lamps towards their master's home. She was desperate, and so she followed them, leaning heavily upon her walking stick.

At last, Aredhel came to the heart of the forest, led by the lights. She called to them, hoping that someone would respond. There was no answer, and the lights disappeared leaving only one light. She found herself before a large house with a lantern before its door. She was surprised to see such a mansion in the middle of this treacherous wood, but it filled her with hope.

She fell before the door, and rapping upon it she cried, "Bring me to the lord of the house! I am in need of sanctuary from the storm!"

The door opened slowly, and a river of golden light fell upon her face, warm and inviting. It was also bright, and Aredhel shielded her eyes.

"It is cold and wet outside," said a soft voice. "Nonetheless, the lady must be thirsty."

"Aye," she replied. "Parched."

Eöl let water flow freely from a cask, and Aredhel caught every drop in her open hands and drank eagerly with dry and cracked lips.

"Thank you, kind stranger," she gasped. "I have been lost in this cursed wood for days in this weather."

Eöl stooped to gaze into her eyes. His unusual eyes caught her off guard for a moment. She had never seen red eyes unless it was an animal's.

"Do not be afraid," Eöl said. "Enter my house as a guest and come out of the cold and evade the rains."

"I fear nothing," she said defensively.

"I fear that the storm may claim you if you remain in it any longer. Will you not come inside?"

He held out his hand. Aredhel hesitated a moment, then she took his hand.

He lifted her to her feet and wrapped her within the folds of his cloak, clasping her close. As soon as she crossed the threshold, a harsh wind blew the door shut, slamming it so hard the noise echoed. Aredhel shuddered from the cold air and broke from Eöl's grasp, preferring to become familiar with the hearth. She crept toward the fire and rubbed warmth into her cold hands and face. The fire felt delicious after treading through snow covered ground and frosted trees.

"Shall you be needing anything, milord?" one of Eöl's servants melted from the shadows, a gaunt figure with narrow eyes and thin, red lips.

"I will require many things for our guest. Blankets, a hot bath, and clean quarters. And tell the cook to send a hot meal for two."

The servant bowed and rushed to do his bidding. The blankets came within a minute, brought by a serving girl, pale as milk. Eöl wrapped it about Aredhel himself and gave the serving girl a look that commanded privacy. She bowed her head and retreated as had the first, vanishing into the darkness. There was very little light in this strange place.

"It is not Spring yet," Eöl explained. "And Nan Elmoth is not under the influence of Melian's Girdle. Therefore, our winters are longer and less forgiving."

"Nan Elmoth? So that is the name of this place."

"Yes, and it is my humble abode. Ah, our food comes. I can smell Tara's cooking from a long way off. Let me lead you to my table."

"Wait," she stopped him. "I can accept nothing until I have paid for lodging. I am no beggar, but not only beggars can go hungry. I brought only a little money with me, and I doubt all of it will satisfy, but is must do."

She held out a small purse of silver pennies, but Eöl refused it.

"Milord, you must take this so that I may keep my dignity," she insisted. "I cannot allow myself to fall into debt. That way no one can point their finger at me and declare: She owes me."

Eöl took her hand, closed her fingers about the purse, and kissed her hand.

"That is unnecessary. Whatever happened to generosity between strangers?"

"We see such a thing less and less these days."

"All the more reason for it, in that case."

"Is it not enough money?" Aredhel was suspicious. "If it is not enough, you may throw me out."

"Please, milady, you are far too mistrusting. I do not want your money. I have no need for it. One cannot eat silver or keep themselves warm with it. Now come to my table and eat before the food grows cold."

He led her through the long dark halls to the dining room where the servants were laying out a meal. She was still reluctant to take such charity. It was the last thing she wanted to do, to appear weak. But she ate because she was starving. She took a gulp of spiced wine and set it aside. It tasted bitter.

Eöl must have noticed her subtle sign of disgust, "Perhaps that came from the dregs of the barrel. Is there a certain wine that you would prefer?"

"Do you have a white wine?"

"Of course."

His servants fetched a cask of white for the White Lady. She took a sip and managed to hide her disappointment this time. She realized that all the wine would be bitter. It was poor quality and cheap. It was then that Eöl began to press the matter of her name.

"I should introduce myself. Perhaps then you shall come to trust me a little. I am Eöl, Lord of the Teleri."

Aredhel realized with this announcement that she was on dangerous ground. Although she had never heard of her self-proclaimed host, there was strife between the Teleri and her kin. No decent member of the Teleri would take kindly to one of the princesses of the Noldor.

"I see," she nodded. "I am very grateful to you, milord, and therefore, I will not waste your time. I plan to leave on the morrow."

"So soon?" his red eyes flashed. "Nonsense! The storm will only grow worse, and even stronger storms are to come. It is perilous to travel unless winter is completely vanquished."

"Once the weather clears, one of your servants can lead me out of this wood. Then I shall go my own way."

"If that is what you truly wish, then it is a death wish. The weather is unpredictable in these parts. Now, tell me your name."

"I would rather you take my money and let us safely remain strangers."

"I meant no intrusion, milady," Eöl said. "But I revealed myself to you. It is most unfair that you remain anonymous."

She ignored him and reached out for her wine glass, and he snatched her hand suddenly. She was startled and a shock of anger went up from her fingertips to her spine. Eöl's face became a mask, but his eyes burned.

"Come now," he said softly. "A name."

He squeezed her hand a little, just to give her an inkling of his strength. She received the hint and found herself beginning to fear him, and she was astonished. Perhaps it was his insistence, his strength, or maybe it was his red eyes and his piercing glance. She hid her anger, however, with a smile.

"You are much quicker than I am. But the days of open friendship are as dead as the Elder Kings."

He squeezed her hand tighter in an almost painful grip, all the while leering like some great predatory cat.

"My name is Ar-Fenial," she caved at last.

"That is only a nickname," Eöl was not satisfied. "It sounds a little peculiar as well, as though it were a Noldoli name. Who are you really?"

Aredhel was reluctant to answer, but he still held her hand, and so she said at last, "Those that know me well call me Ar-Fenial. My true name is Aredhel."

Eöl knew that name as well as her titles: The White Lady of Gondolin, sister of kings and daughter of a king. He hated the Noldor as he hated hell, and she was of the great houses. That alone should make her his mortal enemy, but because of Aredhel's irresistible beauty, he swallowed his anger.

"Highness," he smiled again, "if I had known, I would have prepared a better banquet. How did you come to be here alone?"

"May I now have some wine, please?" there was a trace of resentment in her voice.

"Of course."

He released her hand and filled her glass to the brim. She thanked him and answered his question.

"I came near this region to visit a relative. He was absent and so I began exploring. I found myself in this wood, and the storm found me."

"I am most honored to have you as my guest. It is not often that I have royal visitors."

She curtsied in reply. Then Eöl rose, sweeping his cloak about him.

"I must leave you for now. My servants shall see to your needs. You shall not lack of anything."

After her meal, the servants led Aredhel to a steaming bath. They provided soft, fragrant towels and a nightdress that came with a decorative girdle. She brushed her hand over it admiringly.

"Your master is indeed generous," she remarked.

"Always, milady," they answered. "You will enjoy your stay here."

They left her and she entered the bath, delighting in the hot water as she washed herself clean. After wandering in the wild, she had begun to feel grimy. Then she put on the gown and went to sleep in the most comfortable bed she had ever felt.

When dawn came, she rose to depart as quickly as possible. Despite the hospitality, she had a strange feeling of unease. Eöl was not abroad during the daylight hours, but his servants insisted that she take a meal. Then they insisted she remain another day so that they could prepare a proper paraphernalia for her. She did not see how she could refuse, so she remained and dined that evening with Eöl. She had little to say, but he had enough to say about himself. The second day the weather was too damp for travel.

On the third day, Eöl announced that it was a holiday and Aredhel grew curious. The holiday was a Telerian festival to the stars and to one of the most beloved of the Vanyar, Varda. The Teleri and Sindar named her Elbereth, however. Eöl invited his small folk to celebrate. A handful showed up, bringing simple instruments and gifts with them. There was a small feast and music which was held in her honor. Eöl introduced her as his guest, allowing her to name herself whatever she wished. For that, she was grateful. Most of his people were Teleri or wayward Sindar and may be less forgiving of her lineage. She watched as the servants put on a performance about the creation of the stars and recreated the moment that the Eldar awoke to see them for the first time. She joined in their prayers, but was silent when they began to sing.

"My Lady," Eöl always watched her closely and so took notice. "Why do you not sing? Sing us a song from your people."

She grew pale, not only because his request would expose her for a Noldoli, but because she could not sing. Unlike most Elves, she could not carry a tune. It was a shame her enemies had never failed to tease her about. The Eldar, especially the Golodrim, set such a store upon beautiful voices for both boys and girls.

"I am sorry, but I must refuse," she said boldly. This turned the heads of everyone there. None of the folk of Nan Elmoth dared to refuse their lord anything. They feared him in silence and obeyed without question. They also wondered why she would refuse to sing praises to Elbereth and were slightly insulted. Eöl was more confused than angry. Aredhel did not wish to displease him or anger the people.

"Forgive me, my lord," she began to explain, "but the wine has parched my throat and I prefer to listen to the lovely voices of the youth here. Is there something else I might do to honor the Queen of Stars?"

"Yes," he said after a pause. "You could dance with me. It is customary that the Lord and Lady dance to imitate the Valar. I will stand in for Sulimo and you shall become the living incarnation of Elbereth."

Aredhel wished there were a third option. She could dance much better than she could sing, but she did not like the thought of dancing with Eöl. There could be no refusal though. She danced with him and said nothing as he clasped her closer than she would have liked. The people seemed pleased but wondered to themselves who this strange maiden was and if their Lord really intended to make her his bride.

The fourth day Eöl invited her to hunt a rare white wolf. He had discovered her passion for hunting and baited her well with a story that werewolves and Sauron's wargs had once overrun the forest of Nan Elmoth until he drove them away. She decided to remain a little longer. She never found the white wolf, but she did indeed find evidence that the forest had been inhabited by monstrous wolves at one time. She began to wonder how Eöl might have possibly driven them away. He seemed to possess a small trace of magic, perhaps stolen from the forest itself when Melian abandoned it. Yet another reason to be mindful of her host.

By the time a month had passed, Aredhel wondered why she was still there. What if Celegorm had returned? What if Engner was searching for her? She tried to sneak away during the wee hours, but Eöl's servants followed her. They warned that the winter was getting worse. A blizzard was surely coming and travel would not be safe until spring. They would allow her to send messages to her kin to assuage their worries. Then they led her back to the house.

She realized that she was a prisoner. Any messages she wrote and gave to the servants would never be sent forth. She had been ensnared quite cleverly.

"Did you rest well last night?" Eöl asked as he pulled out her chair at the dining table that evening.

"No, I was restless," she did not sit.

He smiled his slimy smile she had grown to despise, "You must be homesick and lonesome indeed."

"I was watching the storm, hoping that the cursed weather would relent. It seems to have no end. This morning it looked clear enough for travel but as soon as I had such thoughts the storm suddenly appeared. Rather unnatural, I think."

"Not unnatural for winter in Nan Elmoth. What is the rush? You have all the time in the world. Now come sit, my lady."

She sat in the finely cushioned chair with resignation. The table before her was set with wild berries and cream, goat cheese, buttered turnips, and lamb coated with herbs. It smelled delicious, but she had no appetite.

"Why do you only appear at supper, never before?" she inquired.

"I rise same as the stars, not with the sun. That is the way it was and how it is."

"The sun is a star," she reminded him. "It is merely brighter and warmer."

"It exposes all. It is the killer of mysteries and secrets. Its warmth can nurture life or end it. If you were to study the sun, you would find it to be a very violent star. Someday, it will be gone, and so too the moon. But the stars will be there. As many as there are, they cannot all go out at once."

His talk of dying stars made her uneasy. His eyes made her uneasy. They were red as rubies and seemed to never leave her. He bragged that he had night-eyes, and she did not doubt him. He had proven their aptitude by discerning the colors of her dress in total darkness. Sometimes it felt as though he were undressing her with those eyes. She felt cold all over and goose prickles were on her flesh. She had never been so disturbed by anyone. And yet Eöl had shown her nothing but courtesy and generosity. He only kept insisting that she remain.

"I demand to know why I am being kept here."

"It is not safe, and I have grown fond of you. I could not bear harm to befall you."

"I am a huntress, I will protect myself."

She rose to leave and Eöl suddenly lifted her off the floor as easily as he would a child, pressing her against it.

"I will not allow you to leave."

"Save your breath!" she snapped. "Had I known that this was what you had planned, I would have never come here!"

"You have the heart of a male, but do you have a male's strength?"

"Perhaps not, but I have the will of a maiden, and that is better."

"Always defiant! You would give your heart to no one. I read that in you when I first saw you. Now I shall have the maiden that no one else can have."

He began to kiss her but she recovered from her initial shock. For a moment, it seemed she was returning his advances. Exhilarated, Eöl gently placed her back upon her feet and loosened his grip upon her. As his kisses traveled from her lips to her throat, she reached for his belt, but not to unfasten it. She carefully took the sword from his baldric and then raised it to his throat.

"Unhand me, knave!" she hissed. "I will remain your 'guest' no longer and I wish to have nothing more to do with you from this day forth! Touch me again and I will maim you until you are an invalid as well as impotent! By accepting me into your home and sharing your bread and salt you must acknowledge the sacred laws of guest right. I will honor you the Master by not killing you for attempting to break those laws here and now. Perhaps in this shady nook you call your home guest right has been forgotten? You cannot demand anything of me I am not willing to give and I may leave when I please! Understood?"

Eöl quelled his wrath and held up his arms. "Of course! I have not forgotten the laws of hospitality. You must forgive me. I forgot my senses as they were clouded by your beauty. I have proven myself to be a lout. Forget I even touched you! If you must leave, I will not stop you."

She hesitated and backed away from him slowly, waiting for him to make a move. He did not. He merely watched her leave the hall. For a moment she thought she had overreacted. It was not the first time a suitor of hers had proved too eager and would not take no for an answer. Perhaps the Dark Elf had truly lost his wits for a moment. Whatever the case, she wanted to leave as soon as possible.

The chambermaid, Tara the cook, and Culnamo the steward were already gathering her things in the bedchamber. During her stay she had come to know the servants a little. Most of them made her uneasy, especially Culnamo. He seemed to be his Master's creature in every way and she got the sense he did not like her. She rather liked Tara. She was genuinely kind and did not sneak through the shadows as the other servants did. She also managed to cook up wonderful dishes despite the limited supplies in Nan Elmoth.

"Our Master told us what happened," Tara said. "Of course, you are still welcome to stay. The Master would like to undo what he has done..."

"No!" Aredhel wondered that they had appeared so quickly. "I must go home."

"You look so pale, Lady," Tara fussed. "No doubt our Master frightened you. You look ill. You must drink this tonic."

"The sooner I leave this place the better will I feel!" Aredhel pushed away the goblet.

"Please, Lady Aredhel. I insist. I put honey in it to make it go down easier. It is the least I could do if you are truly leaving us."

Without thinking, the White Lady took the tonic in one speedy draught, just to silence the over concerned cook. It did indeed have honey in it, but it had a bitter aftertaste, something she had never tasted before. As soon as she tasted it, she realized what had been done. It was too late to spit out the sleeping potion mixed with some other drug. Immediately she felt her limbs weaken and her vision blurred.

"Tara, what have you done!" she cried.

"Forgive me, my lady," there were tears in the maid's eyes. "The Master commanded it and I dare not refuse."

The sword dropped from Aredhel's hand onto the floor and she followed after it. The last thing she saw was Eöl's face above hers as he lifted her up. She could not fight him. She could do nothing.

Before she slipped out of consciousness, she thought of Engner and whispered his name.

Aredhel fled from the house of Eöl blinded by tears of anger and shame. She wore only the clothes that he had tossed her when he was done. She was defiled. And even though she ran south for hours, she found herself before his house again. The damnable woods were enchanted and would never let her escape! She fell to her knees and let out a wail, appealing to the Valar to avenge her or strike her down. How could she live with herself now? She had vowed that no Elf could ever subdue her. She might have once broken that vow with Engner, but she was convinced that she had destroyed whatever relationship they had had. Instead, her maidenhead had been taken by Eöl the Dark Elf by treachery. There was only silence from the Ainur. Not even Nessa answered, the Valier she had prayed to all her life.

"If you will do nothing, then you leave me no choice!" she bellowed. "I will take my own life!"

"No!" Eöl cried. "I brought you here and I do not mean to lose you."

She cursed him and lunged at him though she had no weapons but her own limbs. Eöl's servants pried her off of him.

"Curse you and your servants! You could never have touched me without their aid! Coward! You have not the courage to fight me!"

"How can I fight you when my son grows within your belly?"

She reeled with shock. And then she knew that what he said was the truth. Elvin women could sense the moment they conceived. She had been too distressed to realize it. Still, she did not want to believe it.

"You have already had me, why can you not let me go? I just want to return home."

"My desire for you was not quenched, and I will not let you leave with my son." He held out his hand. "Stay with me and dwell here in love."

She hesitated. She could leave this place forever. She could cast the child out of her and never speak of him to anyone. But her heart and head told her that was out of the question. There was a baby insider her. Her baby. She might escape with him, but how would she explain him if she returned to Gondolin? There would be a stigma attached to the both of them, and she was already considered odd among her folk. He would be an unhappy bastard, known only by the fact that he was born of violence. It was also dangerous for a maiden to travel while pregnant. She could not leave for his sake and her own. Even if that were not so, she might never find her way out of this enchanted maze that Eöl seemed to command. If she remained, her son would at least have a father. He might even have a normal life.

She had no choice. She took his hand.

"You planned this from the beginning," it was not a question.

"It was the only way to keep you here," he said. "And now you belong to me. You are a Telerian, not one of the cursed Noldoli. I have saved your soul."

"My soul!" Aredhel flared. "You are no savior!"

"In time, you may come to thank me."

Aredhel bit her tongue. She could not be hostile to him, it would only cause them both misery, though she doubted she would ever be happy again. There was a small chance that she could learn to respect and even love Eöl in time. He led her back to the house and closed the door. He had succeeded, and it was long before Aredhel's kin heard word of her again.


	4. Lomion

Eöl was surprised when Asgard reported that a stranger was approaching his house. It was very seldom that anyone approached the woods of Nan Elmoth, especially without his knowledge. Usually he would have simply ignored such a presence in his realm. One Elf was nothing. But this traveler was a clever tracker and had managed to find the house. Apparently this stranger was Noldoli. He looked as though he had not slept or washed in days. He had brought several companions, and all of them bore the seven pointed star upon their breasts. Eöl knew that sigil and scowled.

"What is your kind doing here?" he snarled.

"Forgive me if we trespass, sir-"

"I am Eöl Lord of the Teleri! Address me as such!"

The stranger hesitated, and Eöl noticed with irritation that the guards snickered. They knew who he was and treated him as a capital joke.

"My lord," the stranger began again, "my name is Engner. We are searching for Aredhel Ar-Fenial. It is said that she was seen wandering in this direction. She is a tall maiden with dark hair and blue eyes. She was clothed in white."

"I have seen no one," Eöl lied.

"Are you certain?" Engner's voice was strained. "This maiden is the sister of King Turgon, he will reward you well for any information you have concerning her, and I will personally be grateful. I am fond of the White Lady, and it was my solemn vow to be her guide and guard."

Eöl looked into the tracker's eyes and saw that Aredhel was more to him than his dutiful liege. He ground his teeth and considered killing him and the servants of Fëanor he bore with him. They were his enemies after all, and it would discourage any others from searching for Aredhel. But the servants of Celegorm were veterans of battle, no doubt they were at the Havens and fought the armies of Morgoth since then. They bore good Noldoli steel and the look of grim warriors. Some even looked cruel and returned Eöl's resentment. Eöl was a blacksmith, and though blacksmiths often had good knowledge of swords and swordplay, he was no master. Moreover his servants were entirely ignorant and few in number. Blood would be spilt, most likely his own, so he decided if he simply told them Aredhel was not there and they found no trace, they would have no reason to search here again.

"I am quite certain the maiden you seek is not here and never was here."

Engner looked crushed. He was silent for a long while, and then he nodded. "I apologize for disturbing you. We will keep searching the woods for signs of her, no more. We will not return again."

"I wish you good fortune in your search."

With that, the party left. Engner searched for many months for Aredhel as desperately as he had in Nan Dungortheb. He was angry with himself that he had allowed her to wander so far alone and never searched sooner all because of wounded pride. He was convinced she was alive somewhere, but after some time the servants of Celegorm abandoned the search, believing she was truly lost. Engner searched still for years until finally he returned to Gondolin, utterly dejected. King Turgon could not blame him for Aredhel's disappearance and instead honored him with a lordship for his former service in saving Aredhel from Nan Dungortheb and for bringing him what news he could of her fate. But this was little comfort to Engner. He remained in the city but rarely appeared at court, mourning the loss of the maiden he loved forever

Eöl spoke not a word of Engner's passing to Aredhel. She had become his wife the night before, and she was asleep now, trying to adjust her body to the sleeping pattern her new husband required. He made many demands of her, and some were more difficult than others.

First, Eöl commanded Aredhel to never attempt escape again. She expected that. Next, she could no longer speak her native tongue within Nan Elmoth, and she must shun the sunlight as did he. She accepted these terms, but when Eöl demanded that she renounce and cut off all ties with her kin, she became angry and rebellious.

"That I will never do!" she hissed. "You may keep me here by using my child, ravage my body and crush my spirit, but my heart beats with the blood of the Noldor and no words can undo that!"

"You are my wife now," he said sternly. "Therefore you must claim kinship with my kin. You are Telerian, not of the Golodrim or the Noldor."

"I will not deny my father and brothers! I will not deny myself! I curse you and your kin! We stole ships from a harbor and you steal daughters!"

"How dare you defend your people's crimes and vilify my kin!"

"I cannot be blamed for Fëanor's act! He is shunned even by my family, and they are our blood too."

"You will obey my orders or pain will be your only reward!"

"With your son in my belly?"

"Trust me, there are other ways to persuade you," he promised.

She could not be bitter to him forever and so she obeyed his ridiculous rules. After all, he was now the father of her child, and she desired mirth from the marriage, ill-gotten though it was. Aredhel thought about casting the unborn child out of her many times. After all, he was Eöl's seed, the trap that sealed her fate. She went so far as to gather and crush the herbs that would end the unwanted pregnancy forever. She mixed them and boiled it into a tea, even put a cup to her lips. But he kicked inside of her, as though he knew what was ensuing. He wanted to live, and she had no right to destroy him. She wanted to throw the pot of boiling tea into Eöl's face. She decided that once the boy was born, she would flee from this place with him, perhaps stick a knife in Eöl's belly as a parting gift.

But she fell in love. Not with Eöl, of course, but with her son.

He came into the world rather reluctantly. Aredhel was in great pain, and the midwife feared that someone's life was in jeopardy.

"If you must choose," Eöl said, "save my wife. I can always make more sons." Then Aredhel hoped the child would kill her. No doubt he would be justified in doing so. She had almost killed him. But the birth went well after all.

He was more beautiful than she could have imagined. Once she held him, she became devoted to him and gave him a name in the Forbidden Tongue. That name was Lómion which meant 'child of the twilight'. He went by that name for several years until Eöl discovered the true origin of the name and gave him a new one. That name was Maeglin, which meant 'sharp-eyed', for he suspected that his son's eyes were keener than even his own. Though Lómion was his childhood name, the name Maeglin stuck ever afterward.

At first Eöl was pleased with his son and praised Aredhel for the birth, for he desired a strong heir for his realm. For several short years he spoiled both wife and son, and he and Aredhel would walk together under the stars hand-in-hand. But as the child grew, he became more and more angry that Maeglin looked so much like his sworn enemies. Maeglin resembled his mother and the kin of the Noldor. Eöl had expected his eyes to turn from the hazy blue all infants were born with to green or brown, the usual eye color of the Teleri. Or even his unique shade of red. But his eyes became bluer and bright, the eyes of the Noldor. His hair grew in dark and wavy and rippled like Aredhel's. Eöl often accused her of tainting him with 'bad blood' and feared that his son would possess more than the look of his mother's kin.

He desperately wanted more sons, hoping in time he would find among them an ideal heir. Aredhel would not bring another child into the marriage, not after seeing the way he treated Maeglin. She knew of plants that stopped her from conceiving, and so Eöl would have only one son. Much as she had always desired a daughter, she feared a girl would be even more mistreated. Eöl never discussed it with her, but he planned that if a girl was born, he would send her away to be fostered and match her politically in matrimony to gain more land and titles. Though Aredhel was barren, he denied the fact for a long time. He tried harder to make her conceive. He thought he succeeded when her moon courses stopped, but that was a result of the plants. He then accused her of witchery and beat her, hoping it would somehow produce a child. Aredhel mocked him and laughed. He had never dreamed she would do such a thing to herself and take back some control over her own body. That made the beatings worse and he still expected her to bed him. She wished she could blast his manhood as well, but he was wary of that. She despised it more than the beatings. The beatings stopped after a while. The bedding did not, even when he was finally convinced she would never conceive. Even that did not quench his lustful habits.

After the abuse, Aredhel would lock herself away with her son and rock him. The rocking comforted her as much as it comforted him. He was a fussy infant and sickly. Though adults of the Eldar were immune to disease, some poisons, and more resistant to the elements, children were very vulnerable in the first years of their life. It took time to develop the immunity and endurance of their parents. That was how healers came about. Children were difficult to conceive, so they were more precious than any treasure and everything that could be done to ensure they passed into adulthood was done. Eöl also blamed his poor health on the Noldoli blood, but because Aredhel was infertile now, the child was his heir. He did not wish for him to die and become childless.

Maeglin grew from infancy to childhood and he became less sickly. His eyes were blue but sharp, and he developed the hooked nose of his father. In mind and mood he was his father's son and he could never escape that. He had a passion for metalwork and stones. He was beginning to show signs of abnormal strength for his age. But he had the black temperament of his father. If he did not get his way as a little child he would throw violent tantrums. Not even the threat of Eöl's wrath would quell them. They only made him worse. Only his mother could calm him. For a while Eöl was convinced Maeglin was too unruly to be his heir but he was relieved that the boy took after him in some ways.

It is known that Maeglin loved his mother better. She was kind and fair, and Eöl was often foul and tyrannical. Aredhel would sit and cuddle with him, and Eöl had little patience for children. If Maeglin did not appear to be listening to him or if he felt the boy was playing too much, he would set work before him instead. He had a great fear of his father in his early childhood, nor did he trust his father's servants. They always seemed to be watching and waiting for him to be bad and tell his father. As he aged and it became apparent that he was indeed his son's heir, they treated him with the same respect and fear as they did with his father. However, he spent his younger years mostly clutching Aredhel's skirts, which Eöl despised.

Maeglin's happiest memories were the times when Eöl left the house with many of the servants to visit the Dwarves, which he often did, so that Aredhel and Maeglin were practically free. There were several servants left to guard them, but for the most part they could do as they pleased. It was then that Aredhel would call him Lómion out of the servants' earshot, his childhood name that he loved so much. She also taught him the Forbidden Tongue in secret, risking much pain on account of her husband. Aredhel was stubborn, however. She wanted her son to know his heritage.

Maeglin would sit with her by the fire and learn tales of his mother's kindred and Gondolin. He learned of Finwë, first king of the Noldor, of fiery Fëanor and his loyal sons, of her people's crossing of the Grinding Ice and the construction of one of the greatest cities in the world. It was a place of light and smooth marble, of bustling life and lovely mountain valleys. It had seven gates and seven towers and crystal fountains of clear, cool water. Its walls were impenetrable, its people noble and fair, its warriors fierce and fell. And it was ruled by his uncle Turgon the widower who had no heirs but his daughter Idril.

As Aredhel described this city, Maeglin began to dream of it in his sleep. It was everything Nan Elmoth was not. The land of his fathers was a place of secrets and shadow. The only towers were the towering trunks of the trees. There were no glorious fountains, only creeks and rivers. It was a lonely place. There were few Teleri outside of the havens, and that was many miles away upon the Sundering Shore. Maeglin had no play mates. He began to wish that he would fall asleep in his bed and awaken in Gondolin. Awakened by his uncle and beams of sunlight, which he had never seen. He too was restricted to walk only in the moonlight.

He wanted to play with his cousin Idril. According to his mother she was a lonely girl herself. Perhaps she would understand his own loneliness. Aredhel carried a painted portrait of Idril that she had managed to hide from Eöl. She allowed Maeglin to view it at times, admitting that Idril had been like her own before she wed and now she could never see her again save for this. Maeglin loved to look at his kinswoman sometimes gazing upon it for hours, memorizing her features. She looked much like his mother but her eyes were gray and her hair was golden. He imagined it must be as yellow as the sun, forbidden and unique. No one in his father's house had golden hair. For a long while he thought only Idril had such hair.

Maeglin was Aredhel's son at heart, but as he grew older and Eöl lost hope of ever bearing another son, he decided that Maeglin would have to do. Perhaps separating him from his mother more often would do him well, he thought. He returned home from the Dwarf-cities to find his wife and son together by the hearth. Aredhel bowed her head in greeting and Maeglin stood up from the floor where he had been playing with the dogs. Eöl was pleased to see that his son's hair had grown long and he was no longer an infant but a child growing with ease into boy-hood. He did not want to appear too pleased, however.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face, Maeglin. It makes you look like a monkey. I return expecting to find my son and instead I find a monkey rolling around on the ground with dogs."

Maeglin's face reddened, but he knew better at his age than to talk back to his father. Then Eöl softened and patted his head. Aredhel rose to kiss him dutifully and accept whatever gifts he had brought and feign pleasure. Metals from the ground had never been her fancy. She had taken care to look beautiful, wearing his favorite dress and the jewels he had given her upon his last visit home. He approved and kissed her back with real tenderness. Then as the servants served supper the lord and lady spoke of the Dwarves and his business among their folk. Aredhel reported of the goings on in Nan Elmoth and of Maeglin's progress with his tutors.

"Your mother tells me that you have not been cooperating with Asgard lately!" Eöl turned upon him. "You insist upon learning the sword and abandoning bows entirely!"

"I hate bows," Maeglin answered without shame. "It hurts my arms when I string them."

"With learning comes pain. No need to be a baby about it. You are not a baby anymore, are you?"

"No."

"Then stop acting like it! Your reading tutor says that you are behind in your letters as well. I have seen samples of your writing. They are no better than chicken scratches. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Maeglin did not want to admit that he hated the Sindarin script that the Teleri had come to adopt. His mother had taught him very early the Noldoli letters and warned him to keep it a secret between them. He did not know exactly what would happen if his father found out, but he had promised Aredhel and he was fiercely loyal to her.

"I will try harder."

"You hardest is not good enough."

"Eöl you are being unfair…" Aredhel began.

"No! I am tired of you defending him! Maeglin must learn discipline or he cannot hope to achieve anything."

Aredhel became alarmed, "You mean to start taking him with you to the Dwarf-cities?"

"Aye. The Dwarves will make great teachers. They will tolerate mistakes and bad behavior even less than I, but they will have much knowledge of our trade."

It was the first time that Maeglin was separated from Aredhel and it was hard upon them both. She knew better than to pit her will against Eöl, but Maeglin was too distressed for sense. He refused to speak to his father and when it came time for them to depart he insisted he would not go to the Dwarf-cities. He clung to his bedpost and had to be dragged outside screaming and kicking and throwing a terrible tantrum. They could not have this upon the road, and if he behaved this way it would be most embarrassing upon Eöl . He almost lost patience with him and would have beaten him if Aredhel had not interfered. She did not fear for herself, after all, but she would not tolerate Eöl hurting Maeglin. Eöl reluctantly admitted to himself that Aredhel wielded the real power over their son. He stayed his hand.

"Maeglin, your father knows what is best for you. The Dwarf-cities are glorious, as I hear tell. It shall be much more exciting there than here at home. You may make good friends among the Naugrim. The Dwarves are not as cruel as your father would have you believe. He only wants you to behave and do your duty. You have been rather testy lately. I have never scolded you because you can be such a cherub at times, but now I must say that I disapprove of your behavior. You will not be gone forever. You will remain with them for as long as it takes for you to learn, that is all. Meanwhile, I am not going anywhere. Not without you. Now promise me you will be good for your father and diligent in your studies. That would make me very happy and will please your father as well."

Maeglin hesitated, but he had known his resistance was futile all along, "I promise, mamil."

Eöl breathed a sigh of relief. With Maeglin finally convinced, they set out without further mischief from the boy. Aredhel remained in the house, all alone while both husband and son were absent. Those months when she was alone was the worst. It gave her more than enough time to long for her days in Gondolin. She marveled now that she had ever grown weary of the place and the people there. She came to regret not just how she had treated Engner but all the other suitors she had ever had. She had mistreated almost everyone she had ever came in contact with, believing so cynically that the people of Gondolin were shallow and false. She would give anything to walk in the sunlight again, to sit beside her brother and her niece at the holiday feasts, to be called upon by gentlemen like Ecthelion and Glorfindel.

She also thought of Engner. She had never ceased to wonder of his fate. In the first years of her marriage she had prayed that he would find her and rescue her as he had from the spiders in Dungortheb. She still dreamed of him entering Eöl's house while he was away in the Dwarf-cities and taking her and Maeglin with him. He was such a skilled tracker that Eöl would never be able to follow them. But of course he never came, and she knew that if he had ever searched for her, he had given up by now. Perhaps he had died searching, and that would be another burden upon her. Things might have been very different if only she had not fought with him that day. Perhaps if they had reconciled she would be his wife safe in Gondolin with his child at her breast.

She began to dare things she had not dared to do in her time with Eöl. She learned ways to get a glimpse of sunlight, to study the forest and learn how it moved and obeyed Eöl's commands and those of his servants in his absence. She found ways to get around his kinks and traps. Soon it was nothing to stow away from the house for a few hours of the day. Over the years the servants had stopped spying upon her as much. She had not attempted escape for so long and she gave all appearances that Eöl had made her docile and content being his prisoner. Besides, they knew she would never abandon her son. In this judgment they were correct.

As for Maeglin, he was for the most part dissatisfied with life among the Dwarves. The Dwarf cities were indeed amazing upon first sight. The caves were not simply caves but hand carved palaces underground. Tunnels became pillared hallways, the ceilings within important rooms always domed, and the floors always smooth and even. He had to respect the Dwarves' ingenuity. But he did not love the Naugrim as his father did. He found it annoying that even as a boy he had to look down upon most of them and had to constantly watch where he was going so he would not step on their beards. He saw very few children, and none of them were interested in playing with an Elf-child. In truth, they did not like his look. He glared at them with his piercing eyes whenever they conversed in their secret language and hurried away. He never saw a female Dwarf either in all his time there. According to his father, it was because only a third of their population was female and they jealously guarded their women. The Dwarf-cities lacked sunlight and warmth just as it lacked in Nan Elmoth.

Eöl mostly left him with a very ancient and senile dwarf named Vindalf while he attended feasts and took care of business with his Dwarf friends and partners. Vindalf was a difficult teacher, for he would sometimes forget what he was saying in mid-sentence. His health was poor, he was prone to wetting himself and had the shaking sickness. Maeglin hated having to serve him and secretly hated him too. He played many practical jokes upon him for wry amusement and the dwarf was not clever enough to know what was going on half the time. Maeglin even cut his beard shorter, usually an unforgivable transgression, and the dwarf thought he must have sat too close to the fire and singed it off. It took all the fun out of it. Vindalf tried hard though, and he did teach him important fundamentals about mining and blacksmithing. Even though Maeglin treated him with contempt at best, the dwarf seemed fond of the boy. He was kinder than Eöl, offering the lad sweets and never scolded him. Sometimes, he forgot he was talking to an elfling and called him by his son's name, Veig.

Maeglin spent many years under such pupillage and learned of mining and metals. He even came to love the forge and the supplies used in blacksmithing. He was too young to work alongside his father at his mighty forge, but he could fetch materials and do other things. He came to recognize their traits and uses, developing a talent for finding valuable ores even at a young age. The dwarves said he had the 'weirding way' of some dwarf children that could sense minerals amongst the stones and rubble before spotting it. Maeglin always tried to explain that the stones spoke to him through smells and waves in the air. His father did not understand it but was delighted that his son had such a profitable gift and did not stint at exploiting it, even if it meant putting his heir at risk for some scraps of the precious metal mithril.

Against the advice of the dwarves, Eöl took his son on treacherous climbs into the mountains, trekked through dark and narrow tunnels in the mines, and down into trenches in the earth. If Maeglin complained of the hard work, his father left him alone in a pit for a night to teach him obedience and humility. Maeglin began to develop a healthy fear of heights and narrow spaces. His father had very little tolerance for mistakes and such weaknesses. Once Maeglin had tried to toss him a bag of ores while they were upon the mountains. Queasy from the sight of the ground so far below, his throw was too short and Eöl was unable to catch it. They lost a great deal of wealth as they were unable to find the bag or its contents afterward. His father made his life miserable for many days after that mishap.

Details of Eöl's punishments and methodology in training Maeglin were kept from Aredhel, though the servants kept news of her doings and reported all to their master, Maeglin was not allowed to send word to her. Maeglin strived in all things to please Eöl because he had promised his mother. He missed her very much while he was away but would not show it. He knew his father would not tolerate such softness. There were no other children amongst the household of Eöl and since he had no friends he had little choice but to focus on his work and studies. He soon stopped making obvious mistakes, and if he did make mistakes he became skilled in hiding them. Eöl was becoming more convinced that Maeglin might make a satisfying heir after all

After only four years of such schooling, Aredhel noticed a difference in her son when he returned home. He was half-grown by now. He was taller of course, but there were other changes. He had become more moody but more disciplined. Instead of violent temper tantrums he resorted to cold silence and brooding. He was growing in strength, muscular for his age due to his intense labor, and he was no longer petrified of his father. His father's harsh punishments turned his fear to anger that he could not act on. Instead channeled his anger into other things, like work and chores. He felt much more at ease when they returned home.

Maeglin embraced his mother and became her shadow again. Both of their spirits were lifted by one another's company. Eöl had agreed to allow Aredhel time with the boy, so he returned to the Dwarf-cities for a few months alone. It was then that Maeglin noticed his mother vanished from the house sometimes whenever he happened to awaken during the daylight hours. Whenever he asked the servants where she had gone they were just as confused as he was.

"Mother, where have you been?" he asked when she returned.

"Seeking the sun," she could never lie to him, but now she was afraid. "I should have told you sooner. Now the servants may report this to your father. He forbids us to see the sun."

"I will tell them I found you within the house somewhere then," Maeglin sensed her fear. "They will believe the son of their lord. You must take me with you to see the sunrise. Why is sunlight so hateful to father?"

"I do not know, Lómion. It must have something to do with his hatred for my people. It is most unusual for even the Teleri to be so exclusive though. It seems more likely that your father's eyes are sensitive to the light and he would keep them upon us at all times so he forbids us the day."

"Will you take me to see the sun?"

"It is quite risky that both of us should be missing at such an hour. Your father would not be pleased if he caught us."

But Maeglin begged and Aredhel could not refuse him anything for long. They slipped from the house in the wee hours and came to a glade within Nan Elmoth. By some miracle, lightning had struck one of the tall, dark trees of the wood and sundered the mighty trunk in twain until it could support weight no longer. It toppled over, leaving a gap in the once impenetrable roof of Nan Elmoth so that the sky could be seen. Already there was foliage growing in its place, battling for the rays of light. In several years, a sapling would grow and fill the gap once more. Until then, however, Nan Elmoth would be a brighter place. They waited until sunrise. It was the first that Maeglin had ever seen. It was an amazing sight. The sky upon the horizon began to glow and change color. The birds seemed to herald the appearance of the sun. It was not until noon that the sun could be seen from the glade, and he stared directly at it in amaze. His eyes began to hurt and when he closed his eyes he saw wells of fire behind his lids.

"My eyes! Mother, they burn!" he cried and wondered for a moment if his father was right about the sun.

"Do not stare directly into Her," Aredhel told him. "She is too bright for that, but she is warm and gives life to all that you see. Look at the world about you and you will see the true power and glory of the sun. We will return again tomorrow at noon. We cannot risk more than an hour or two at one time."

Maeglin looked upon the blue sky and the white clouds. He was amazed at how bright the world had become, and he felt the sun's gaze upon his skin. The world was an entirely different place altogether. He could never have imagined such stark differences. He also saw how happy his mother seemed in the light. She absolutely glowed. Then she began pointing out the clouds, introducing him to a new game in which they guessed shapes and animals within the clouds.

"That one looks like one of the towers of Gondolin," she said. "Oh, to be there again. What I would give…"

"Why not go if you want it so badly? Father could not stop you. After all, your family is there. My family is there. Why does he hate them so? And why does he say that I am tainted?"

"You are not tainted! Do you hear me? Your father has no right to say such a thing! He hates them because of the Kinslaying and the Sack of the Havens. He blames the Noldor for all his misfortunes, but he does so unjustly! He would have you and I forget our Noldoli heritage, but you must not!"

"Does he hurt you?" Maeglin had wanted to ask this question for many years.

"What?" the question was so unexpected.

"Does father hurt you?" he repeated.

"I will pretend that you did not ask such a thing. Your father loves us both and he has done much to take care of us."

"The more you speak of him and his rules, the more I have to wonder. If you hate his rules so much, why did you marry him?"

"I was not given much of a choice."

"What do you mean? What keeps you here?"

Aredhel hesitated and said with a forced smile, "Your father is quite persuasive. I fell for his charms, I suppose. Besides, if I had never met him, I would not have you. I have found happiness where I had not looked for it."

This did little to deter his fears, but what else could she say? She could not lie and she could not tell the truth. What might it do to him if she had answered: What keeps me here? You. You are the final and strongest link in a chain he keeps about my limbs. I loved Engner, but I foolishly left him and fell in Eöl's trap. You are all that stands between me and my freedom. But I am a mother and I cannot ever escape. I married him because the bastard raped me and got me with child.

"Why are you crying, mother?"

"It is nothing. The sun got in my eyes."

They returned as often as they could to that forbidden glade to see the sun, but they could not keep the secret forever. The servants grew suspicious and spied them out. When they returned one evening, Eöl was waiting for them. Instead of greeting them lovingly, he wore a frown. The servants had told him of Aredhel's actions, but did not mention that Maeglin had been absent as well, fearing retribution from his heir. He was old enough now to remember their actions and seek vengeance when he came of age and a lord in his own right.

"What news from the Dwarf cities?" Aredhel asked in greeting when they found him there.

"I have been told that you are gone from the house often without any servants or guards," he barreled through formal greetings and came right to his point. "That alone displeases me. But it is said that you slip away during the daylight hours, Aredhel."

Maeglin grew afraid, wondering if they had been caught. Aredhel knew that once again the servants must have betrayed her and that Eöl was about to show his dark side, but Maeglin was still off the hook for the moment. She hoped to send him away somehow. She did not want him to see Eöl at his worst.

"Son, would you excuse your father and I?"

"He will remain where he is! Now tell me if what the people are saying is true."

"Must we do this in front of the boy?"

"Never mind that. You cannot coddle him forever. I demand an answer!"

"There is a beautiful glade," Aredhel did not lie. "What of it? I have never left the eaves of the forest, have not even approached them. Why should I have need of guard? I am the Lady of Nan Elmoth and have my rights even within your realm. Why should a Lady ask permission of her servants to go out?"

"I have no doubt you have basked in the sun. I see the truth in your eyes. You have broken one of my most sacred rules!"

"I often walk with you under the stars; will you not walk with me under the morning star for once?"

"Do not even suggest it!"

"Why not?" Maeglin was so eager to defend his mother that he forgot himself. "The sun is beautiful and warm. Perhaps warm enough to melt the ice in your veins!"

Eöl gave him a sharp look. Seeing his father's face darken, Maeglin realized what he had done. He strained to think of a way to reconcile what he had said, but it was too late. Eöl struck Aredhel with such force that it knocked her off her feet. He lifted her by her hair, slamming her against the wall. Maeglin stared in disbelief. He had never seen them even shout at each other before, and there was such violence in the blow, bruises were already forming on his mother's skin.

"Not only do disrespect me and break my commands, but you would poison my own son against me?" Eöl rasped.

"You do that yourself! I have never said an ill word against you around him nor encouraged it in him!"

He struck her with another blow, "Do not lie to me, treacherous Noldoli bitch!"

Maeglin could stand no more, "Stop! Do not hurt her! Please! I asked her to show me sunlight. She refused and I had to beg until she gave in. It is not her fault! Leave her alone!"

He sprang and caught himself about his father's leg, trying with all the strength in his little body to pull him off of Aredhel. In annoyance, Eöl tossed him aside, but he had lost control of his own strength and flung the boy too hard. Maeglin could not recover his balance and fell. He bit down hard on his lip, causing cherry red blood to swell from his mouth.

The sight of her son's blood and look of terror awoke something in Aredhel. She ripped from Eöl's grasp, summoning her old fire from the ashes of her spirit. She smashed a nearby mirror, cutting her own hand as she plucked up a shard, but she felt nothing. She lifted Maeglin into her other arm and backed away from her husband, eyes aflame.

"You can beat me, but you dare not touch my son, for he is my son, not yours," she hissed. "I once slew a bear with nothing but a hunting knife when I was younger and still a Huntress. The beast was after Turgon, and he had spent all his arrows. He could not reach for his sword, but I reached for my knife and slit the bear's throat. Some of my old skill is in me still. All your brute strength will account for nothing against speedy knife work. If you try to harm Maeglin or call for you skulking servants to do the deed for you, I swear in the name of Nessa that I will kill you!"

Eöl hesitated. He wanted to test her resolve, but there was a dangerous light in her eyes he had never seen before. It had been so long since she had fought back or even spoke in defense of herself. It was as she said, he could beat her all he liked and she would not resist, but she would defend the child of her body to the death. She had often cursed him for a coward that he always used his servants to overpower her. Even the White Lady was not strong enough to overcome Eöl when he had an entire household to restrain her. He was confident he could defeat her one on one. After all, when it came to physical strength, he was superior, but Aredhel was quick and better with weapons. He might defeat her, but not without serious risk to her person.

There was good reason he so often used his servants to chastise Aredhel, to keep injury to a minimum and to keep their fights from escalating from behind closed doors into the open. She was still his wife, not a brooding mare to be easily replaced. If he had simply wanted a maiden to bear him heirs and cast aside he had servant girls aplenty to satisfy those urges. Aredhel was a maiden of royal birth and uncommon beauty and intelligence, not so easily replaced, and he loved her in his own harsh way. The servants' aid was also enlisted to keep Maeglin in ignorance. Even he agreed in the boy's early years that their domestic disputes should not be witnessed. Now there could be no avoiding it. He had even drawn his son's blood. He had punished the boy through other means many times, but never had he struck him.

"Maeglin, come to me," he commanded. "We are leaving."

"No," the word poured out from his lips immediately.

"What did you say!"

This was totally unexpected. Maeglin had never dared defy his father before. He had been too afraid or excused his father's behavior because of his youth and because despite everything, he was his father. But he gladly did so now.

"You hurt my mother!"

"Boy, do you want a beating as well?"

"Touch him and it will be the last thing you do, Eöl!"

He remained standing in place, frustrated that both wife and son were against him now. Maeglin feared he would spring at them and carry out his threats. All three waited, nerves on edge. Aredhel's hand healed, but some blood still dripped between her fingers. She never blinked.

At last, Eöl broke the tension, throwing up his hands in disgust, "Very well. I can see that your mother has frightened you, Maeglin. I will return when our blood is cooled. This has gone far enough. Make no mistake, this shall be resolved when I return!"

He left the house in a rage. When she was certain that he was gone, Aredhel set Maeglin down and examined his lip. Her hand had healed in a matter of minutes, her bruises would be gone in a few hours, but he did not have quite her rapid healing yet; too young. The cut was nothing. She kissed his lips and then began to clean up the shattered glass, all without a word save to complain that it had been her favorite mirror. Now she must use the clouded one to apply some ointment for her bruises. She seemed suddenly so calm and cool, almost as though nothing had happened. Maeglin was still in shock.

"He hit you!" he exclaimed breathlessly

"He did," she said nonchalantly. "It has not happened for years. I was beginning to think he was beyond such things."

"You mean to say he has done this before? But you said-"

"I did not deny anything. It was just too hard to say. You were better off without such knowledge."

"Mother, we should leave before he comes back! We can go to Gondolin! Uncle Turgon will take us in! We could go now!"

She laughed, "My son, you think I did not try? In the early years while I carried you I tried. When you were a babe in arms the journey would have surely killed you. Your father commands the trees, you see, and his servants would hunt us down. After all these years, my brother believes I am dead and I fear I no longer remember the way to Gondolin. What hope is there of escape?"

"Mother, are you saying you are a prisoner?"

"This is my home, Lómion, and I dwell here not wholly unwillingly."

She would say no more. She had already told him too much. He was not old enough for such subjects. She hated Eöl for shattering the tranquility of his little world, the notion that their marriage was a happy one and that he had been conceived in love. Even if it had been a fragile facade, it had made Maeglin's life easier and richer. Now he would only be confused and angry.

The moment they both dreaded came. Eöl returned the next night. Maeglin ran to warn his mother. He begged her to run away. No doubt Eöl had only returned in a blacker mood than before. He would make them both pay. But Aredhel seemed rooted in place. She looked at her son helplessly and shook her head sadly. Maeglin never forgot that moment and tried to make sense of her actions years later. She had not been bound, nonetheless, she could not leave. Somehow, Eöl had gained a powerful hold upon her mind that she could not break free of.

Eöl entered, silent and grim. Maeglin blocked his path, shouting, "Do not touch my mother!" To his surprise, his father brushed him gently aside. He kneeled before Aredhel and begged forgiveness. He wept and kissed her bruises. Next he turned and begged forgiveness of his son.

"I walked and walked for hours after I left," he explained. "I was so angry, terrible thoughts pursued me. I wanted to return and destroy the house and everything in it. I came to fear myself. It seemed like madness had come over me when I struck you both. I was not aware of myself. Slowly, I remembered everything that I said and did. I wanted to deny it at first, but my conscience does not lie. It remembers transgressions. You can deny details, but it will not let you forget the hurt and regret. I was gripped with guilt. I especially did not mean to harm you, Maeglin. What happened to you was pure accident. It was your mother I truly wronged. I have always feared that you would leave me, Aredhel. I know that you have not always loved me. I have been quite selfish. I have not treated you as I should. Then I feared to show my face around here again. I half expected the two of you to be gone. At first I thought I would return to the Dwarf-cities and stay there. Perhaps it would be better until I learn to control my strength and rage. But that would be running from my problems, not solving them, and I cannot abandon my wife and son. That would be worse than the first crime against you both. So I ask that you both forgive me. I promise that I will change."

Aredhel was astonished. Eöl had never asked forgiveness for anything he had ever done. He was always justified in his mind. His tears were new as well. She had never seen him weep in all her years with him. She had never seen this side of him before and he seemed sincere. Maeglin, however, looked on his father in disgust. He had always taught his son that weakness was a sin and mocked him for a suckling babe if he ever wept. He was always unforgiving as well. If Maeglin misbehaved, there was no argument or clemency, only quick judgment and punishment. Aredhel had, unintentionally, reinforced his beliefs. She might comfort her son when he wept, but she suffered in silence and rarely wept herself. She was never a fragile maiden even in the beginning and though Eöl had made her tame, she was still hard upon herself and made no excuses. Maeglin saw his father's tears as hypocrisy and he did not believe a word he said.

But Aredhel was moved to pity. She suddenly returned his kisses and forgave him. Maeglin felt sick to his stomach. He refused to forgive him. When Eöl continued to beg, he ran out the door and into the dark wood of Nan Elmoth. How could she? he thought wildly. How could she? Aredhel went after him.

"He is going to hurt you again!" he shouted. "He will do it again, I know it! He is a liar! I hate him! I hate him!"

"Do not say that! He is your father, and I know him better than you. I think he will keep his promise. We must at least give him a chance. You do not have to forgive him, and I promise you that I certainly will not forget and expect him to keep his word."


	5. Escape from Nan Elmoth

And Eöl did keep his promise, it seemed. For a year it was like they were on holiday. He did not visit the Dwarf-cities or the forge even once. He settled at home and enjoyed his wife and son's company. He lifted his ban on sunlight, even visiting the sunlit grove with them once, but he complained the sun hurt his eyes and burned his sensitive skin. He was eager for the roof of Nan Elmoth to be complete once more and never walked in the sun again. Aredhel laughed and teased him. He might have beaten her for doing that in their early years, but now he laughed along with her.

One might have thought that she loved him wholly and that he had never once abused her. They acted like such an affectionate couple, Maeglin found it maddening. He was jealous of the attention Aredhel gave his father. Once she had only loved her son. He would not admit it, but he had preferred when his mother hated Eöl as much as he. The Lord of Nan Elmoth took his wife to see the dwarf-cities for a few months as a sort of honeymoon. It was the first time she had left the wood since she had first arrived. She had almost forgotten what such freedom was like, seeing strange new places and new people. She began to feel less a prisoner and more like herself again, though Eöl still refused to allow her to contact her kin. Their time together in the Dwarf-cities was the happiest of their marriage, and she came willingly to his bed.

Maeglin was left alone in Nan Elmoth with only the servants for company. They were the loneliest and most miserable months of his life. He imagined Eöl with his mother and wanted to smash something. For a while he hated Aredhel too for forgiving Eöl and becoming completely submissive to him, giving him her heart as well as her trust. He felt she had abandoned him in some way. His love was greater than the hate, though, and over time he forgave her. But he would never forgive Eöl. Never. All he could do was take out his anger on the servants.

He gathered all of the household servants as well as the small folk that dwelt in the rest of his father's realm, such as there were, to a feast. As lord while his father was gone, he had the authority to do so. It was the first time he had acted as lord, and so the people were anxious to see how it would turn out. He made himself guest of honor, of course, and revealed that he was growing into a charismatic leader. He was the spokesman of the ceremonies, graciously thanked his guests and paid homage to their families and whatever part they played in Nan Elmoth. He had calculated exactly how much food and wine there should be, and how many musicians should play. Everyone was pleasantly surprised and seemed to be having a good time. Until the night drew to a close. They all gathered their things to leave, as the sun was about to rise, but then Maeglin stopped them.

"What is this? Why leave before dawn?"

"But your father's commands-" someone started.

"My father is not here. Must you always obey his commands, even if he is absent?"

They were horrified that he would even ask. There was a silence. Whatever music had been playing died down. The merry hours just before threatened to be dampened and destroyed by such talk. Some of the younger Elves began to shuffle away.

"Where are you going!" Maeglin shouted. "I did not give you leave to go! I have questions to ask of you!"

"Little lord, can this not wait?"

"The Lady Aredhel loves sunlight. We all know this. But who was it that spied her out in the glades and told my father?"

"Why should they tell you such a thing?" asked Culnamo, Eöl's chief servant. "Should you tell your mother, that person shall be punished for certain and for what? The Lady Aredhel is not above disobeying her lord's commands and we serve Eöl, not your mother. If she does such a thing, it is our sworn duty to let it be known. Your mother is in the wrong, not one of us."

"Was it you then?" Maeglin pointed an accusing finger at him.

Culnamo grinned, "Little lord, I cannot be in all places at once. I do not leave the house, and even if it was me you cannot prove it. It could have been anyone in Nan Elmoth."

"Then who was it? Who was it!"

No one spoke. Maeglin had known they would never confess, but he had wanted to ask nonetheless. He studied the faces of each elf and maiden there. All looked guilty to him. No doubt they would all tattle on him and his mother for no other reason than for profit or in the hope of gaining honor and status. Those in Nan Elmoth did not have much. Since there was so little sunlight it could be hard to grow a good stock of food. Some herded sheep near the edges of the mountains or worked in the forge and mines, but no one was extravagantly rich. Most were outcasts from Doriath or embittered Teleri who grew weary of the sea. He had a feeling half of them hated his mother because she was Noldoli, and just as many hated him as well. After this night, some might realize that Maeglin could be just as dangerous as his father and decide to stay out of his affairs and Aredhel's. But it was the household servants that were most guilty and they were truly his father's creatures.

"Those of you that must return to your homes deep in the forest may go," he said. "I apologize for my outburst; I only wanted to know the answer to a simple question. My household servants must join me afterward. Since I would not dream of breaking my father's commands, we will go inside to talk, of course."

The small folk dwindled away in their little groups, wondering what had come over Maeglin and what he could possibly have to say. They knew little of their lord and his family. His personal servants rarely left the house and when they returned to their families never spoke of the goings on in Eöl's household.

"Who was it that reported what my mother did?" he demanded of the servants once all guests were gone.

"You already asked this question-" Culnamo began.

"Silence! You do realize that my mother was beaten for what was said?"

"Of course. No doubt the beating was richly deserved."

Maeglin looked at the pale Elf in aversion that he could be so cruel and so insolent. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"Listen, little lord of mixed blood, my son was slain at the Havens by your mother's kindred. I care not what becomes of her."

"If such a thing happens again, I will hold you personally responsible, Culnamo. Whatever punishment she receives, you will receive tenfold! That is a promise!"

Where he had once been annoyed by the servants and suspicious of them, he now grew to hate them as well. Even Tara the kitchen maid was a sneaking snake that gave him honey as she lied. He used to like her. She gave him sweets whenever Eöl was not looking. She would never wish harm upon the Lady Aredhel or upon himself. Culnamo was the only one that had such opinions. She did admit that she had lost a husband at the Havens. Most of the household had and only Tara seemed remorseful when he asked if she had witnessed his father beating his mother and done anything about it.

"Lord Eöl has a temper, my dear," she said in reply. "Your mother used to provoke him constantly. It is a shame he knows only one way to deal with her, but he is lord here, not you or I. His house his rule."

When Eöl and his wife returned from their honeymoon, all that he heard of Maeglin's deeds was that he had held a feast and spoke eloquently. Maeglin found it encouraging that nothing else was reported. After the honeymoon, Eöl never left his family alone again. If he went to the forge, he had a small house built so his wife and son could stay there while he worked, as he often worked long periods at the forge and then took time off. If he traveled to the Dwarf cities, his family accompanied him. They spent half the year every year in or near the cities and the other half at home in Nan Elmoth. It was more convenient than before when Eöl traveled back and forth every month or so. They had a permanent residence near the mines in the Blue Mountains.

The Dwarves welcomed them. It was unusual for a whole family of Elves to remain for long periods among them. Even in Menegroth and Nargothrond, the Eldar and the Naugrim lived in separate corners of the Caves and lived practically separate lives, only commingling for business and out of curiosity once in a while. It took Aredhel a while to become comfortable around them. None were allowed in Gondolin. They had not participated in its building. Turgon's kingdom was built by the hands of Elves alone. The Dwarves were equally in awe of her. They had few women of their own so that they were always fascinated by the gentler sex, especially a Noldoli princess. They thought it queer that Aredhel would wed the Dark Elf, for so they called Eöl. One would expect one of her esteem to remain in Gondolin for the rest of her days among High Elves. They never delved too deeply into their lives, though. Though they loved and respected Eöl they knew that he could be prickly.

Maeglin was now strong enough to work in the forge. No more dealing with dwarves! All his instructing came from his father now. Despite the shadow between father and son, the two worked side by side beginning in the morning and into the night. It was hard and back-breaking work but Maeglin enjoyed it. He had always had an interest in his father's profession, though he did not find his father's company very pleasant. Most often they worked in silence. Their meals were cheerless. Eöl did not like such estrangement from his son. He hoped he had forgiven him. Maeglin's anger cooled and he was always pleasant and civil to his father as the years progressed. In all appearances, they seemed a normal and happy family.

Maeglin grew into an elf just short of seven feet in height, and he had what seemed to be supernatural strength after years in the forge working with metals and heavy tools. He was broad shouldered and barrel-chested, and unlike his father did not develop a stoop in his posture. His hair grew long, rippled and dark like his mothers. His eyes remained blue, but Eöl no longer complained of it. He learned to master his anger and won over the Dwarves and the small folk of Nan Elmoth alike as the charisma he had shown as a child increased. Along with metal working, his mother taught him woodcraft and the thrill of the hunt.

Aredhel was changing as well. She was slowly but surely becoming bolder, more like herself before she wed Eöl. She laughed loudly and often as she took up the raiment of the Huntress and rode through the woods once more in the sunshine. In fact, it was beginning to bother Eöl and he told his son so.

"It is not proper of a wife of the Teleri. The sunlight drives living creatures into madness. I fear I have allowed her to bask in it too long unchecked. I should command her not to do it."

"Mother is more than a Lady," Maeglin reminded him. "She was a princess and it was you that allowed everyone into the sunlight again in the first place."

After their talk in the forge, Eöl passed an edict that no one in Nan Elmoth was to walk in sunlight anymore. Those that broke the statute could be fined. Aredhel was angered, but she was not the only one. Many of his folk had grown to love the light and fled the forests and his rule, cursing him for a tyrant and a fool. Those that would not leave their homes complained of the yoke, but Eöl would not relent.

As Maeglin had matured, his ambition had grown. It seemed to him that his father had taught him all that he could teach, even his precious secret of how to make galvorn and the Dwarves kept secrets still that they would never reveal to the kin of Elves. They mistrusted even the Dark Elf himself. They were such a stunted, suspicious race. He also knew now that his father was not the mighty lord he fancied himself. He had only the little land of Nan Elmoth with his handful of servants and no tributaries. No such thing as an army existed. The only reason he had a title at all was because he was distantly related to King Thingol and hoarded such treasures that he gained mining. Outside of Nan Elmoth, he was little more than a rogue. Even Thingol's folk laughed at him in their cups. Did Maeglin really want such a meager inheritance?

It was strange. He had worked so hard to live up to his father's high expectations, and now he found he exceeded Eöl in many things. He was taller, his sight was sharper, he was fairer of face. He spoke less, but when he did, he had a powerful voice that overthrew those that withstood him. And above all, Maeglin had royal blood in his veins, a fact Eöl foolishly had never exploited because of his irrational hatred towards the Noldor. Maeglin remembered his mother's tales of the kingdom of Gondolin where she came from. There was a king but no queen to give him more heirs. His only child was Idril, a girl child. If he were to only seek out Gondolin and his uncle, he could become a mighty prince of the Noldor. If his uncle saw him fit for kingship, he might even become King of Gondolin!

He became obsessed with this idea. He began to dream of the city again. Maeglin decided to broach the subject with his father the next day in the forge. How could Eöl refuse? Maeglin was a full grown Elf in his own right, no prisoner.

"Father," he began. "I wish to leave Nan Elmoth and not to Belegost or Nagrod. I am done with the Dwarf-cities."

"Where then would you go?" his father asked, hammering away.

"I wish to meet some of my kin."

Eöl smiled. "Doriath is guarded by Melian's Girdle. You cannot enter save with special permission from Thingol. If we send word to him, he might agree to accept you for a visit. When did you plan to do so?"

"I do not wish to seek the Teleri. I speak of mother's kin."

Eöl's smile vanished. His grip on the hammer loosened at these words, and he smashed his thumb instead of the forge. He cast it aside, wincing in pain only for a moment. Then he turned to his son.

"What did you say?"

"I wish to see my mother's kin," Maeglin repeated. "The Sons of Fëanor, or better yet Fingon or Turgon."

Eöl paused and said slowly, "You are of the house of Eöl, my son. Of the Teleri, and not of the Golodrim. All of this land is the land of the Teleri, and I will not deal nor have my son deal with the slayers of our kin the invaders and usurpers of our homes. In this you will obey me or I will set you in bonds."

Maeglin was taken aback by that threat. He pressed his mother for tales, listening especially for details about how to find it, hoping she would reveal where Turgon and the kingdom was located. But she guarded the secret well. She had made a sacred vow long ago that she would reveal the city to no one that was not born there already. Maeglin tried to wheedle it from her mind, but she could endure his glance and perceived his own thought.

"I cannot tell you where Gondolin lies," she cried at last after he had been staring at her for a long spell.

"Then tell me where I may find the Sons of Fëanor. Is it true that they dwell far from us here?"

"It is," she answered. "But, Lómion, they are not Golodrim as you and I. They are Noldoli, but of the wrong branch in the family tree. They would not know."

"At least I shall have the chance to speak with some of my own kin at last."

"Perhaps, but it can never be. Your father will not allow me to contact my family, why would he permit you to do so?"

It so happened that Eöl was walking past the room and heard the last snatches of their conversation. He burst in, saying, "So your mother put you up to this talk of finding the Noldor? I should have known her influence would eventually damage you beyond repair!"

He lunged at Aredhel, but Maeglin sprang before her. No doubt Eöl planned to beat Aredhel, whether she was innocent or not. Eöl stopped just short of him. Instead of trembling in fear, Aredhel wore a smile on her face.

"Step aside, son," Eöl said. "Aredhel and I need to talk."

But Maeglin was cold and silent and stood protectively over his mother. Maeglin was as strong as his father. Maeglin might prove the stronger if it came down between his wrath and Maeglin's love and desperation to protect Aredhel.

Thus began the quarrels between father and son. Maeglin refused to walk abroad with him anymore. He would work in the forge alone, and Eöl mistrusted him. Aredhel became distant from her husband as well. He had forgotten his promise, and all the tender feelings she had ever had for him vanished. She and Maeglin remained in the house at Nan Elmoth while Eöl left for the Dwarf cities.

The servants came to Maeglin one day, reporting that wolves had been slaughtering the livestock on the outskirts of the forest. They asked him to hunt down some of the beasts as lord while Eöl was gone. Maeglin patrolled the wood, but he found no sign of wolves. He asked the small folk if they had seen wolves or lost their sheep lately. To his surprise, none had. In fact, none of the livestock had gone missing. There was no wolf. The servants had merely sent him on a long goose chase.

He returned to the house with mud on his boots and rain dripping from his cloak and hair. He looked forward to a hot meal and entered the dining room to find Eöl sitting at the table and dining alone. Maeglin's heart sank.

"You!" he said. "We were not expecting you for three days more!"

His father made no reply.

"Where is my mother?"

Again, Eöl did not answer. He finished the last bites of his meal, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and left. Maeglin searched the house, calling for Aredhel. She was gone. He cursed and summoned the servants and seized Culnamo and shook him.

"You told me that he would not return until Litha!"

"That is what we thought, my lord!"

"And where is Aredhel?"

He hesitated until Maeglin struck him, "She is not here. Eöl took her into the forest."

"You will help me find her. Now!"

Culnamo knew exactly where she was. He led Maeglin deep into Nan Elmoth. Eöl had dragged her from the house, tied her to a tree, and beaten her within an inch of her life. She was a trembling, forlorn creature. Her white raiment was stained with blood and drenched from the rain. Maeglin put a hand over his mouth in horror at the sight.

"Oh, mother," he moaned. "No…"

She looked up at him, the light in her eyes dimmed. He stooped and cut the ropes. She fell into his arms, limp and weak. He tried to comfort her, but she was not crying. She made no sound or sign.

"Mother, please say something. Please."

Her voice was strained, but she managed the words, "He should have killed me."

She slipped out of consciousness. She had fought Eöl. There were signs of struggle everywhere. But there were many footprints where there should have been only two sets. There were four meaning that two servants must have held Aredhel down as Eöl struck her and aided in bringing her here and then bound her because it was such a cumbersome task. They had then fabricated a tale to stop Maeglin from being there to defend her. Culnamo had been one of them, but the entire household had been involved, either directly or indirectly at one point. Maeglin wanted to kill them all then and there and almost reached to start with Culnamo, but then who would care for his mother? He ordered them to carry her back to the house and treat her wounds. He wanted to deal with his father first.

"Where did Eöl go?" he demanded.

"He has left Nan Elmoth by now."

"What?"

"The people of Belegost hold a banquet at one time during the year. You know that. But this year they are marking the anniversary of the city's founding. They invited Eöl, as is their custom, to attend. He only stopped here for a few hours to fetch the proper attire and some new tools."

"Then see to your Mistress!" Maeglin roared. "No good guileful canker-blossoms!"

When the servants told him that they could do no more for Aredhel, Maeglin took them one-by-one into the forest, hiding a knife inside of his shirt and he slaughtered them all. He did not even spare Tara.

When it was done, Maeglin returned to his mother's side and took her hand in his. All there was left was to wait for her to regain consciousness. She moaned as she slept and sometimes cried out a name. After listening carefully, Maeglin interpreted the name Engner. He had never heard that name before, but he took it as a good sign that she was stirring. She opened her eyes, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Lómion? I am glad it is you."

"I should have been there," he said. "Forgive me. Eöl would have never dared hurt you if I had only been there."

"You cannot be at my side twenty four hours, not since you were in the womb. It would have happened sooner or later. There was little noise, for I did not wail. After he had hit me several times, I felt no pain. I felt nothing. I did not swoon until after. I witnessed it all. After the ringing in my ears stopped I heard nothing either. It was strange. The feeling of no feeling. It was as though I were dreaming or watching it all happen to someone else. But I did see colors. I shall never see such colors again. Indigo and black, deep shades of crimson, and blinding flashes of white. Then once Eöl became exhausted, they left me there to bleed. It is miraculous no beasts found me first, the scent of blood must have been strong enough to carry for miles. I wonder if I would have felt their teeth…"

"Please do not tell me that he has numbed you!"

"He had not struck me since you were young. He kept his promise until now. I thought he was going to kill me," her voice was frail. "If you were not here for me, Eöl might have killed me long ago. I must get some sleep, true sleep. Lómion, my son. My son."

She closed her eyes and slept a long while. Maeglin did his best to nurse her back to health. When she awoke, she asked after the servants. She thought it strange that they were all gone. The house was usually a silent one, but this silence was unnerving. It was never so empty. There was always at least one servant in the shadows to sniff out their secrets.

"I sent the servants away," Maeglin answered simply.

"Sent them away? You mean you banished them?"

"In a way. They will never betray us again. Do not think about them."

Something was terribly wrong. Maeglin was not telling her all that he could, she could sense it. Also, he wore a smile on his face, one that she recognized all too well and hated seeing on her son. It was the same sort of predatory grin his father sported often. She would not ask him anymore, she did not want to know what her son had done. She had never liked or trusted any one of her servants. They were never her own to begin with. They served their master and him alone in all things, even if he commanded them to beat his own wife and their own mistress. Tara had never done such things. Some of the servants had at least questioned Eöl's orders. They did so at their own risk of course. If Eöl had harsh punishments for his wife, they were nothing compared to the abuse suffered by his servants. There were times she even pitied them.

"We will need help in maintaining this house, Lómion. I cannot do it alone."

"Not to worry, mother. I shall begin recruiting new servants soon. They will be to our liking and not Eöl's pawns.

"And what of Eöl?" there was contempt in her voice. "Where is he?"

"He has gone to Belegost, fleeing like a coward before I could avenge you. Are you feeling stronger?"

"My body is healing, but I am crushed in heart and spirit."

Maeglin was saddened by this, but he said," I know what you need. You should come with me now. A glimpse of the sun may work a miracle upon you."

He took her hand and helped her walk outside. He raised her upon her horse and they sought the sunlight, passing through their old grove first. Unfortunately, the forest had robbed them of the once sacred place. A tall tree had grown in the place of the old, repairing the roof of leaves and again veiling the sunlight. The flowers were dead and only rotted leaves remained now. They found the eaves of the forest where the trees ended and the grasses greeted them. The only roof here was the sky.

Aredhel seemed to brighten at once. She took a deep breath as though she had forgotten what fresh air was like. The forest of Nan Elmoth was strange, even stifling the air. The warm sun on her face was like an old friend. She basked in her rays, tears rimming her eyes that she stubbornly blinked away. Maeglin's heart grew hot with desire to leave Nan Elmoth forever. He had long planned their escape, and now the time was ripe. There was nothing that could prevent them from doing so.

"Lady," he said to his mother. "Why must we remain here any longer? What hope is there in this wood for you or for me? Here we are held in bondage. I shall gain no profit here, for I have learned all that my father has to teach. Let us depart while there is time! You pine for Gondolin, and there I belong. We shall seek the city and shall as last be free! If we delay any longer, the lord of Nan Elmoth shall return. He will set us both in fetters. I refuse to let that happen. You shall be my guide and I shall be your guard!"

Then Aredhel looked with pride upon her son, the only thing that she had ever loved in Nan Elmoth and smiled. It was not the first time that he had asked her this. He was not a babe any longer, but full grown. If there was any gift Aredhel had received from her husband that she was grateful for, it was her son. She reached out and kissed his brow.

"We should have done this years ago. Forgive me that I was such a fool. Let us leave this place, it twists souls."

"I shall gather our things and throw Eöl off of our trail should he return."

Maeglin had never felt happier. At last, his mother had come to her senses. He returned to the house, passing by the festering corpses of the servants he had murdered. He kicked the nearest one.

"Hi! One of you get off your lazy ass and fetch the Lady's things!" he laughed. Then he entered the house and packed traveling gear, all the essentials that they might need on their journey, but not so much that it would slow them down. He took whatever coinage he could find. He also took a certain sword from Eöl's armory, Anguriel. It was easily the most valuable thing he owned. Maeglin had always admired it as a boy, and now it hung at his baldric. It was a unique blade made from a strange metal that fell from the sky and cut through all earthly matter. He had not forged Anguriel, of course. Eöl had taken it from King Thingol's hoard when he left Doriath. He had been sending blades and armor to Menegroth since then in payment since he had never asked permission to take Anguriel in the first place. Only one other blade was made from the same metal, and that was the dagger Angrist that Celegorm wielded and that Beren used to cut a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown. Stealing the sword would add insult to injury.

"Now to leave my legacy to my father," he said. He brought in the servants' corpses one by one. It was a grisly task, but he sat them in chairs at the dining table and made the scene look like a welcome party. Only one task remained, he wished to leave a note, but he could not find any ink anywhere. It was not often that letters were written in their household. Most messages were exchanged through travelers and word of mouth. Eöl was so secretive he hated to write anything down, and he always feared Aredhel would smuggle letters to her kin. Finally he took some blood from Culnamo. The blood gave his words an unnatural color.

He returned to his mother. She chided him gently for taking so long. If he had not dismissed all of their servants his trip would have taken minutes rather than hours. They had wasted precious sunlight. Then she recognized Anguriel.

"Must you take that?" she asked.

"Why not? It was to pass to me someday. I just decided to claim it early is all."

"It is not yours," she answered. "It was not Eöl's either."

"How many blades is it worth? Eöl must have sent a sword every year-"

"It is priceless. If you sent a hundred blades a year it would still not compare. I would rather you not repeat your father's mistake-"

"My father and I are nothing alike!" Maeglin burst. "When we return to Gondolin where we belong I will be a prince in truth. Does a prince not deserve such a fine blade?"

Aredhel frowned but did not argue further. Anguriel was a thing of beauty, but she always had an uneasy feeling when she held it.

"Let us go."


	6. A Dark Seed Sewn

Eöl returned out of the east much sooner than Maeglin had foreseen. As before, guilt had begun to gnaw at him. He had beaten Aredhel more severely than he ever had. For a moment he thought he had truly killed her and fled. He grabbed a quick meal, and when Maeglin had entered and the color drained from his face, Eöl felt even more ashamed and afraid. Afraid at what his son would do if he found his mother dead in the woods. He was not sure how he would approach him. He was almost certain Aredhel was not dead. She was still breathing, he knew that now.

He called to his servants, but no one answered. He had not expected his wife and son to greet him, but his servants were never so lax. After shouting for them several times, he searched the rooms for any living persons. Instead he found it empty. He searched his own chambers first and found to his horror that all of his money was gone. Even his sword was gone. For a moment he thought he had been robbed by raiders. Orcs feared the wood of Nan Elmoth and never entered it. Even so few could sustain a living in the sunless place and if they managed they barely did so. Perhaps the Orcs had been emboldened or a company of evil Men came through. That made more sense, the place was not entirely ransacked. Perhaps they had taken his wife and son and all of the others. He searched even more frantically for another soul. It was only when he searched the dining room that he found anyone.

His entire household sat around the table. His favorite foods were laid out before him but was spoiled and rotting. Their cold hands were fastened around silverware and cups. Their mouths were opened as though to laugh, but they had no doubt been screaming before death relieved them. Their clothes were slashed and bloodied, hair disheveled and dirty from the earth. Even Eöl felt his stomach clench. He considered most of his servants to be nothing more than hired hands, but Culnamo was one of the few people he had ever trusted, and Tara and some of the other maids had been with him for ages. They fed him, clothed him, saw to his every need before Aredhel. They were the only friends or family he had ever known.

There was an empty seat for him. On the seat was a note in Maeglin's hand. His horror turned to anger immediately. If this was truly his son's work… He began to read, his anger rising.

Father,

We have gone and left you alone without your riches or your scheming servants. We shall not be returning, and no amount of begging for forgiveness will redeem you this time. You have hurt my mother for the last time. By the time you have read this, we shall be safe with Celegorm and Curufin. Pursue us if you must, but you shall not receive kind words or good cheer from them or from me. Part of me hopes that you will find us. Why, you ask? Because should we meet again, I would not hesitate to kill you without remorse or hesitation. Farewell.

Eöl tore the letter to shreds. He decided not to heed the warning and gathered all the possessions he had left. Then he fetched his horse and pursued his wife and son into Celegorm and Curufin's lands. Eöl's mingled wrath and grief did not make him reckless. He rode warily, for he knew Celegorm and Curufin loved him not at all.

Despite his precautions, the servants of Curufin were aware of him. They ambushed him and forced his back upon the ground. One among them pointed a spear inches from his breast.

"Was that really necessary?" Eöl rasped.

"You are a trespasser, friend," the spear man replied, his tone dripping with disdain. "And you are one of alien race, yet I recognize your face. Eöl the Dark Elf, unfriend of his own kind. What brought you out of your seclusion?"

"I have an urgent errand," was all that he would say.

"When a trespasser does not cooperate, he must be brought before the lord of the land. Come on then!"

They pulled him to his feet roughly and brought him before Curufin. Celegorm had departed once more. Curufin was of perilous mood, and when he saw Eöl he scoffed.

"What have we here?" he said mockingly. "An oversized Orc?"

"A Teleri Lord."

"Lord," his frown showed what he thought of that. "Why have you come to me with this beggar?"

"He was found wandering about your lands and would only say that he had an urgent errand."

"Ah, I see. And what errand have you, Dark Elf, in my lands? An urgent matter indeed it must be to keep one so sun shy abroad by the light of day."

Eöl knew that he was on rotten ice. The Sons of Feanor were the last people in Beleriand he wanted to provoke. They had bent many to their will and were very powerful.

"Tell me now why you are here, Eöl! Be quick, for I have many duties to attend to. I do not wish to tend to them and return to find you here!"

"I have learned that my wife, the White Lady of Gondolin and my son have ridden to visit you while I was away from home. It seemed fitting that I should join them."

Curufin looked amazed for a moment and then laughed. "They might have found their welcome less warm than they hoped if you had come with them!"

"Then they are here?"

"No! But it was only two days ago that my scouts reported a maiden and her male companion passing over the Arassiach. They were riding westwards. It seems that you are trying to deceive me unless you yourself have been deceived."

Eöl was silent for a moment and then a light come upon him. He knew in his heart that Aredhel and Maeglin were seeking Gondolin. If they should reach the Hidden City, he could never reclaim them. They had tricked him into pursuing a false lead. He was hot with humiliation.

"Lord," Eöl rose to his feet. "perhaps you will give me leave to go and discover the truth of these matters."

"I knew the truth as well as you do. You have my leave but not my love. The sooner you leave the better will it please me."

"It is good, Lord Curufin, to find a kinsman so kind at need. I will remember it when I return."

But Curufin looked darkly at him. "Do not against flaunt the title of your wife before me. Those that steal the daughters of the Noldor and wed them without gift or leave do not gain kinship with her kin. Aredhel dwelt here before she was lost, and Celegorm and I were very distressed when she disappeared. Now I know why it happened, and I will remember it when you return!"

Eöl dropped his manner and demanded, "What are you trying to accuse me of?"

"I gave you my leave to go, "Curufin retorted. "Take it before I change my mind. By the laws of the Eldar I cannot slay you. When have the laws ever truly protected us? Even so, if I knew I could get away with it, I would put you in a hole and leave you there for centuries until you had driven yourself mad wondering exactly what was crawling around with you in your cell!"

Eöl was speechless. The servants cleared a path for him, glaring. He turned to depart and Curufin spoke suddenly.

"A word of counsel, not that you deserve it. Return to the shadows of Nan Elmoth where you belong. If you continue to pursue those that love you no more, you shall never see your home again."

Eöl stormed out of the halls, mounted his horse, and spurred forward with all the speed the animal could muster. Because of his humiliation, his hate for the Noldor had only increased. He also knew he was not far behind his wife and son now. He could easily overtake them. He used all his woodcraft to track them, but he found himself in the Brithiach by pure guesswork.

At last he caught sight of Aredhel's white raiment from afar, and their horses betrayed them by stamping and whinnying in the dark. They traveled without rest, for now they were near Gondolin, but they were not fast enough. Aredhel was pushing herself too much. Maeglin tried to stop her and demand that they rest. She was not yet fully healed. She stubbornly refused. Her condition slowed them already, and she was eager to return home. Eager for the faces of her brother and niece, for Ecthelion and Glorfindel, for Engner, if he still lived.

The Way was blocked by six gates, ceaselessly guarded. When Maeglin and Aredhel paused at the first gate, Eöl would have seized her then, but the guard spotted them first and cried aloud. They recognized Aredhel and abandoned their posts to greet her. Eöl was forced to conceal himself.

"It is the White Lady! She has finally returned!"

"Elemmakil?"

She was swept into a dozen hugs. One very bold guard took her by the shoulders and pulled her into a passionate kiss.

"Pardon me, Lady," he said. "I just needed to be sure that you were real."

He pulled away his helm and was revealed.

"Engner!" she returned his kiss and burst into joyful tears.

As they kissed, the others looked doubtfully at Maeglin.

"Who is your escort?" they asked.

Aredhel paused and pulled away from Engner before she answered, "He is my son."

Engner led Aredhel through the Dark Gate and they entered the ravines. The others remained at the Gate, though they saluted to Aredhel and gave a curtsey to Maeglin. No one noted Eöl as he slipped in through the outer gate. But he could go no further than that. Engner had already led them past the Second Gate, the Gate of Stone. They went in silence for a long while. Aredhel hid her eyes as Maeglin marveled at his surroundings.

"Here we shall allow you to rest and take a meal," Engner said. "We have already sent word to Turgon."

Her face brightened at the mention of her brother. They were led to a chamber and Engner brought in food and wine.

"White for you, Aredhel?" he said with a smile.

"No. I drink red these days."

Engner withheld the wine and drew himself a chair. Maeglin sensed that the two needed to be alone and decided to dine in another room. Engner and Aredhel were left alone.

"Your son," Engner said at last. "He is very handsome. What is his name?"

"Maeglin. Well, that is what Eöl calls him. I call him Lómion."

"And was it this Eöl that bruised your face?"

Aredhel turned her face away in shame. Engner reached out and touched her cheek.

"I was out walking and became lost in Nan Elmoth. I found my way to his house. He gave me food and shelter, but he demanded something of me in return."

"I searched for you until I came to the forest. That place is cursed." He slammed his fist upon the table ."That bastard lied to me! He was hiding you all along. I searched Nan Elmoth and he bid me do it, but I never thought to search his house or his bed for that matter. If only I had. I was closer than I ever realized. I could have rescued you then and there. I was such a frantic fool. I am so sorry, Aredhel."

"You did search for me," she smiled. "I thought that you would. I never knew you found the way to the house. Nan Elmoth was ever under Eöl's control, it is quite a feat. He never told me that you had visited. I must have been locked away in the house at the time, far from any windows; else I would break through it to join you. His whole household could not have held me back. But even if you had found me, Engner, it would have done no good. By then I was married and my son conceived. By law-"

"The law is supposed to protect us not entrap us! And the laws of marriage are deemed sacred. Eöl perverts it. He has no true claim to you."

"I said the vows willingly, Engner. No evil was done in the eyes of the Valar. Eöl calculated it all so well."

"No, Aredhel. You did nothing wrong. You are not his property. If ever he had any right to you they are forfeit. You are home now."

He tried to take her hand and she pulled away as though his touch burned her.

"Have you been so mishandled, Lady? Has Eöl mad you bitter even towards me?"

"Never against you!" she threw her arms about him and he held her, their tears mingling. "I used to dream of you rescuing me. Every time I kissed Eöl, I pretended he was you. Every time I held his child, I wished he was yours. I sinned against you and took my home for granted. I was punished justly."

"No! Look at me, Aredhel. You are blameless! You did not deserve what happened. You were once a Huntress who vowed never to be dominated by anyone! Eöl will pay for what he has done to your spirit!"

"Hopefully I will never have to see him again."

"I never stopped loving you."

"Neither did I."

"I will wed you," the words poured out of him. "It would be a proper marriage. I am no longer a humble tracker, you see. When Glorfindel and Ecthelion told him of what I had done to save you in Nan Dungortheb, Turgon made me a lord."

She smiled, "I loved you when you were no more than a knave."

Part of her wanted to say yes, but she remembered that Maeglin was in the next room. He was no longer a child and clearly hated Eöl, but she was not certain what he would think of a new father. She was still married, and a divorce was unheard of. It was an option she could pursue and would. If that were not scandalous enough, remarriage would be even more delicate. She must not be hasty.

"Engner," she chose her words carefully. "I will need some time."

He nodded in understanding. "Of course. I can wait as long as you need."

She kissed him. Just because she was not prepared to wed him, it did not mean she would suppress her affection. She would not deny herself and leave him with no hope in his heart.

"Take me to my brother."

Maeglin joined them as they journeyed to a wall yet higher and stronger than the last. In it was set the Third Gate, the Gate of Bronze. Above its lintel were three square towers roofed with copper. The guards wore mail of bright scarlet. Beyond it was a toilsome road and the Fourth Gate, Gate of Iron. There were now four towers of iron engraved with the image of an eagle.

"How many gates are there?" Maeglin asked in astonishment as well as a hint of impatience. He was anxious to meet King Turgon and his cousin Idril.

"There at six at present," Engner answered. "We intend to add more in the future. The days grow darker and the gates and high walls ensure our advantage in battle. Only a dragon could scale the walls and the gates themselves become stronger as we come closer to the inner city."

"Gondolin is indeed great if there is a need for so many gates. I trust that the next two shall be silver and gold?"

Engner laughed merrily. "You shall see!"

The road climbed up until they passed the crown of the Echoriath Mountains. The towers fell toward the inner hills. The ravine was tipped with snow and the guards wore black. They guarded the gate of Silver whose wall was made of white marble and the gate graven with the likeness of the moon. On parapets on the low wall were countless archers in silver. The last Gate was like the Silver, only the marble was yellow and the gate graven with the sun.

"As I thought!" Maeglin said triumphantly. "I am exhausted! I cannot imagine marching an army through all those gates with archers raining arrows up and over mountains! No wonder the Enemy fears Gondolin."

"I pray that reputation alone keeps us safe."

As they walked, Maeglin and Engner had measured each other. Maeglin sensed he was likely of humble background and status. He was of smaller build and stature, but he seemed gentler and less moody than Eöl. He gladly explained Gondolin's layout and dynamics and answered Maeglin's questions, but he could not keep his eyes away from Aredhel for very long. Overall, Engner did not seem very extraordinary, but if Aredhel loved him, he must be. He decided he liked the young lord.

Engner did not know what to make of Maeglin. He was fair of face, but his muscles were much broader than most Eldar. He thought it unnatural. He was very interested in Gondolin but was silent upon all other subjects. He listened rather than spoke. He was civil, but not friendly, and he sensed he was one with many dark secrets. He wondered how much of the father was in Maeglin.

Sunlight fell upon the road when at last they came to the wide entrance to the Orflach Echor. There were no walls here but two mighty towers. The travelers went up the white steps of Gondolin and to the place of the Fountain. Aredhel paused for a moment to look into the waters. Maeglin pulled up beside her.

"You love him, that is plain," he whispered. "Know this: I want you to be happy. If he makes you happy, you belong together. For you, I would even call him father."

She felt instant relief and warmth at these words. Her son's approval meant so much to her. She beamed with happiness. The sunlight on the water was beautiful, even more so than she remembered. She drank from the fountain, tasting again the cold, fresh waters of Gondolin. The air was not choked by dense forest and whole families were bustling about. She felt she would never be alone again. Since Maeglin had lifted a burden from her, she turned and gave Engner an open mouth kiss, no longer caring who it was that saw. She knew she would never weep or want for anything again. She felt a return not only to her home and kin, but to the young Aredhel that was strong and did not balk for anyone or anything.

"I am home!" she cried, causing a few stares. The couple laughed. At least when she saw her brother and niece, she would be somewhat of herself again. They entered the king's tower which was located on a pillared arcade. There, the king awaited them.

Turgon was one of the mightiest of the kings of the Eldar and was among the last. He was tall and dark-haired, but his eyes were blue. He wore a gold sword at his side, its handle was made of ivory and inlaid with scarlet. He was also one of the most lighthearted of kings and sprang to greet Aredhel, forgetting all formalities.

Beside the king, calm and resolute, was a rare beauty indeed. She was Idril Celebrindal, the same girl that had begged her auntie not to go. She was no mere girl now, but an Elf-maid tall and slender. She was golden as the Vanyar, her mother's kin. Her hair was parted into seven braids like seven rivers of light. Though she was a king's daughter, she wore no ornament or crown. She did not even wear shoes. By such garb one might think she were a serving girl. Her beauty was overwhelming. She wore white after the fashion of Aredhel when she had been the White Lady of Gondolin. Idril had taken her place in her absence. She seemed to be the source from which the halls drew all its light.

"Welcome!" she greeted Maeglin warmly in Quenya, and her voice was soft and resonant.

"Thank you and well met," he replied with perfect diction. He was grateful Aredhel had taught him the language fluently, though it had caused her much pain. "I am Lómion, son of Aredhel."

"Here you shall find peace and rest from all your cares. I am Idril Celebrindal, your kinswoman."

He had thought she was merely an attendant until she named herself. As a youngster he had memorized her features from her portrait. He should have recognized the gray eyes at least, but many years had passed. Her babyish roundness was gone and when he learned her true identity he was humiliated and bitterly disappointed. Having seen some Golodrim in passing, Maeglin knew now that yellow hair was not unique only to Idril, but no one else had the same luster. He found himself wishing that they were not cousins. The Eldar did not wed so close of kin, nor had any desired to do so. She had grown much since her portrait was taken. He had always thought she looked pretty, but now she had grown into one of the loveliest maids. He raked the curves of her body with his eyes.

As though she knew of his thoughts, she turned and gave him a searching gaze. Her piercing gray eyes could read many hearts. When her eyes met his, he gladly held them, but he guarded his mind. He was not named Maeglin for nothing. He attempted to read her. He smiled and Idril privately became alarmed. They had each found a match. Neither could read the other without their knowledge. She must now guard herself and did so immediately. She was a private person and revealed herself to no one even if they were blood kin.

"Happily do I greet you at last, cousin. I have dreamed of coming here since I was a boy."

"And now that you have seen Gondolin, does she meet your expectations?"

"It has surpassed my wildest imaginings, my lady."

He kissed her cheek and then the other in formal greeting. Idril bowed her head in reverence, but her eyes were hard on him. She turned to Aredhel and her whole expression changed. She smiled luminously and embraced her aunt. Tears rimmed her eyes but she blinked them away. It was a trick Aredhel had taught her and often used herself. Aredhel kissed her several times. Maeglin had always known they had been close, but he could not help but be touched. Aredhel had often called her dearer than daughter. Though their eyes and hair were different colors, he could see that they both had Noldoli eyes and their hair had the same texture. He could sense Aredhel's strength in Idril. It seemed Turgon had left little of himself in his daughter.

"Look at you!" Aredhel exclaimed. "A Lady."

"I have missed you, Auntie."

"And I you, Celebrindal. You have become such a beauty!"

"I have heard such before, but never did I believe it until you said so," Idril grinned from ear to ear. "They say the Princess looks more like a Queen of Heaven."

Turgon turned to Maeglin and looked with liking upon his sister-son. "What is your profession? You are built like a bull!"

"A blacksmith, your royal highness."

"Please, call me uncle," the king threw an arm about him and pulled him into a bone crunching bear hug. "Welcome home, my boy."

Maeglin was pleasantly surprised. He had been told that Turgon was jovial, but he had not expected such an immediate gesture of acceptance and affection. The only person that had shown him such unconditional love was his mother. His father had simply rewarded the good and punished the bad.

"I rejoice indeed that Aredhel Ar-Fenial has returned to Gondolin," Turgon said, "and now my city shall seem fairer than in the days I deemed her lost. As for Maeglin, he shall be given the highest honor."

Maeglin was annoyed that they were all calling him by his father's given name rather than Lómion. He felt it would be rude to correct a king and he was too happy to be picky. He would later wish that he had corrected them. By the time he expressed his true feelings, the name Maeglin stuck.

He took Turgon for king then and there, to do all his will and serve him for life. Aredhel beamed at her son. She had never felt prouder of him in all her life. He was no longer the son of Eöl. Perhaps he could come to know a good life now that they were in Gondolin, away from the shadows of Nan Elmoth.

"Maeglin son of Aredhel," Idril said aloud. "But what of his father?"

Aredhel's face darkened and Maeglin was silent. Engner took her hand.

"Shall I explain?"

"No," she answered. "After all, I am shameless."

She began to tell them all, but suddenly a soldier burst through the doors.

"What is the meaning of this interruption?" Turgon demanded.

They all gasped in horror when they saw that his uniform was soaked with blood.

"Pardon me, my lord," he panted. "The Guard has taken captive one that came by stealth to the Dark Gate. Eöl he names himself. He is tall, dark, and grim. He is Telerian, but he claims Lady Aredhel is his wife and demands that his family be returned to him at once. I know not if his claim is true, but his wrath is great and he is hard to restrain. He stabbed one of my men. This blood is his, not mine. We have not slain him as your law commands. What should we do with him?"

"Oh no, he followed us!" Aredhel cried in dismay.

"But we saw and heard no pursuit as we entered the Hidden Way!" Maeglin argued. "We were days ahead of him. It is impossible!"

Aredhel sighed. Then she rose from her seat, her expression grim. She clutched Engner's hand.

"Everything the Dark Elf said is true. I am his wife and he is the father of my son. Do not slay him but bring him here for the King's judgment, to do with him as he wishes. There is much I would charge him with. I also wish to divorce him immediately."

The hall became ghostly silent. The word divorce had never been uttered in the city as a serious subject before, but Maeglin wanted to leap for joy. Engner stood beside Aredhel.

"I know the appropriate charges," he said in support. "They include kidnapping, domestic violence, and spousal rape."

Turgon and Idril were aghast, "Aredhel, are these things true?"

She nodded.

Turgon turned to the guard and looked closely at the blood stains, "He has also assaulted one of my guards and that too is unforgivable. I trust that his victim is being cared for?"

"Aye, the healers are tending to him now and say that it was a ferocious blow but my man will recover."

"Send in this Dark Elf!"

Minutes later the rest of the Guard entered, pushing Eöl forward. He was unbound, but the guard had confiscated his sword and watched him carefully. He cast his captors aside resentfully. Then he gazed in wonder at Turgon on his throne and his daughter beside him. The beauty of the city had moved even his hard heart. It also filled him with envy. When he thought of his Nan Elmoth, he was reminded how impoverished he truly was. This land had been Teleri lands, and the Noldor had made a fortress of it. No matter how fair it was, it was filled with mechanisms of war and closer to Angband than he had believed possible. The Golodrim seemed proud and convinced of their superiority. They were practically tempting Morgoth to assail them on a dare

Then Eöl saw his wife and son. Maeglin was wearing Anguriel and the emblem of Gondolin was upon his breast. That made him scowl and his blood began to boil.

"I have gone through a lot of trouble to find you," he growled.

Aredhel and Maeglin cast him dark looks. Engner wrapped a protective arm about her.

"I think they would have preferred to stay lost."

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

Looking closer, Eöl recognized the young tracker. Jealousy erupted in him. Aredhel held Engner's hand, and one could plainly see that she felt more love for him than she had ever felt for Eöl for the entirety of their marriage.

"Get your filthy hands off my wife, Kinslayer!" he demanded.

He would have sprang at them, but the king rose, "Peace, kinsman! I will not hear that word uttered here! I name you kinsman, for so I hold you to be. Here you shall dwell at your own pleasure and not as prisoner, though you must abide here and depart not from my kingdom. It is a well-known law that none that find their way here shall depart."

Turgon offered his hand, but Eöl recoiled and drew back his own, crying, "I acknowledge not your law! Dwell at my own pleasure, though I must depart not? You have no right to keep me here against my will! I believe that is what is done with prisoners, not true kinsmen. Neither do you have the right to set bounds or seize realms as carelessly as your kind have. This is the land of the Teleri, to whom you repay with only famine and war and all unquiet! If this is how you treat kinsmen, I would hate to be an enemy! I care nothing for your secrets and have not come to spy upon you. I have only come to this cursed place to reclaim what is mine. My wife and son!"

Engner was fiercely loyal to both Aredhel and his king and replied, "How dare you speak to the king that way! You are fortunate that you were even allowed admittance into our halls and not slaughtered at the gate! Do you deny that you took advantage of Aredhel seeking shelter from a storm, held her prisoner, forced her into wedlock, and that your son was born of rape!"

Maeglin winced at that. He had long guessed that his conception was unnatural. It was thought that maidens could only bear children of their own will and would die if they were taken by force. It was a myth. Unplanned pregnancies were so rare, and the concept of rape so foreign to the Eldar, that they had no reason to believe otherwise. But hearing such a thing spoken aloud hurt Maeglin.

Instead of addressing Engner's accusation, Eöl said, "And what gives you the right, vile servant, to speak so rashly or insolently to me? I am Lord of Nan Elmoth and great among the Teleri!"

"You are the bastard son of pigs and lord of nothing but shadows!"

Eöl turned to Turgon, "If you have some claim to your sister, then let her remain. It was my understanding that she came to hate this place in her younger years. If she had really wanted to leave me, she certainly could have. She had many opportunities to return home. We had pleasant times, did we not Aredhel?"

He held her gaze and she conceded, "You gave me a son, and not all of my years were hateful in Nan Elmoth. But from this day forth, I renounce you and your kin. I am your wife no longer."

"You think it is that easy?" his voice became soft. "You cannot leave me."

"On the contrary," Engner said, "she can."

"Very well. Let the bird go back to the cage where in time she will only sicken again as she sickened before. She will remember her true home in Nan Elmoth and realize that her place is with me. But not so Maeglin. My son you shall not withhold from me unless the sun rises in the west! You cannot fathom the ways in which we are connected. He is mine by right!"

"Call upon him then," Idril spoke, and Maeglin was encouraged that she would involve herself. "If you indeed are connected as you say, he will follow you and we cannot stop him. But I doubt he will obey like a broken dog. This is where his true family is. He has sworn his sword to my father, and such an oath is binding. If he is bonded to anyone, I think it would be to the king now and his mother."

"If there is a shred of honor left in him he will come with me," Eöl snapped.

"Very well then," Idril's smile was mirthless. "Call him."

"I shall!" and turning he called to his son, "Come, Maeglin son of Eöl! Your father commands you!"

Maeglin did not even glance in his direction in acknowledgement.

"Come, child of mine!" Eöl harshened his voice. "Leave the house of our enemies and the slayers of our kin! Remember the sack of the Havens and the blood of the Teleri spilled into the sea!"

Maeglin was silent and did not move, as though he had not heard.

"You damnable tricksters have bewitched him somehow and turned a son against his father!"

Engner laughed as though that was a capital joke. Idril gave him a sharp look and he ceased.

"Now have the White Lady call," she said.

"Lómion, darling. Please join me," Aredhel beckoned.

"Gladly, mother," Maeglin responded at once.

He rose from where he sat with Idril and sat beside his mother instead.

"What have you done to my son?" Eöl demanded.

"I will not debate with you, Dark Elf," Turgon said, still digesting all that had been said and done. "We are not your enemies. Those of us in Gondolin took no part in the Kinslaying you speak so often of and it is by the valor of the Noldor that your sunless woods are kept safe from the Enemy. Your freedom to wander Nan Elmoth you owe to my people!"

Eöl would have protested, but Turgon took up his scepter of doom. It was the royal symbol of law and judgment. Even Eöl recognized it and stopped himself.

"I am here king and whether you will it or not, my doom is law. Therefore, you have but two choices. Abide here or die here. That choice is also offered to your son. Choose wisely."

Eöl did not answer at once but turned his back and was still and silent. Aredhel was afraid and licked her lips. She knew he was perilous, and his silence did not comfort her.

After some time, Turgon said, "I must have an answer. Now."

"I have chosen!" Eöl cried and suddenly faced them, a light in his eyes and his face a twisted mask of malice. "I choose the second choice and so also for my son! You shall not withhold what is mine!"

Swift as a serpent, he drew a javelin from his cloak and cast it at Maeglin. Aredhel reacted quickly and sprang before him, taking the dart in the shoulder. Maeglin caught her as she fell, crying out in despair, but she was smiling.

"I am alright," she said with triumph, "and you are safe."

Engner dove at Eöl, trying to restrain him from doing further harm. There had been a flash of horror upon Eöl's face when he saw he hit the wrong target. He drew a knife from his boot and tried to slash at Maeglin. The guard rushed to try to pin him, but Eöl was strong and determined to rectify his error. If Engner was enraged, Maeglin went berserk. He had seen his mother victimized too many times for him to count. For years he had held back his intense hatred of his father. Now it spilled forth from him. He wrestled the knife from his father.

"I warned you not to follow us!" he roared. "I warned you not to harm Aredhel! Give me that knife! It is just like you to toss hidden spears and crude knives! I will kill you, you bastard!"

Instead of a struggle to restrain one, the guards were forced to try to pull two apart. Father and son were trying to murder each other. Three took hold of the father and three more the son. But Maeglin seemed an animal, thirsting for a taste of vengeance and only blood would satisfy it. Though they wrested both the knife and Anguriel away from him, Maeglin managed a single devastating blow to Eöl's head, knocking him unconscious. He was no more trouble. All hands now went to keep Maeglin from finishing him off.

When Maeglin was finally curtailed and Aredhel rushed to the healers, Eöl was taken to the dungeons. The javelin was removed from her shoulder, her wound cleaned and dressed. She insisted she was fine. It had been a small hurt, after all. Her shoulder was sore but she had suffered worse from her husband. Idril wrapped the wound herself with utmost care.

Turgon, Engner, and Maeglin were still furious. Maeglin became cold and silent. Anguriel was returned to him after he promised not to try to kill his father again. He paced the halls of healing, concerned only for his mother now. Engner asked for details of Eöl's other crimes, anxious to make an official account for trial. Turgon wanted to skip a trial altogether.

"Now for a certainty the Dark Elf has earned death!" he said. "It would be just with the charges already stacked against him and with the choice he has made himself. We have no need of a lengthy trial to expose him for what he is. I saw him attempt murder upon his own son with my own eyes. There are plenty of other witnesses that saw the same. If I were to slay him now no curse would befall us. We would be twice blessed!"

"Father, you must not touch him!" Idril said at once. "I know that no good could come of his execution!"

"Neither will I allow it," Aredhel added, surprising them all.

"Sister?" Turgon said doubtfully.

"He was my husband. He was at fault many times, yes, but he gave me my son. For that I can pardon him of almost anything. Judge him as you will, brother, but spare him his life!"

"Why are the maiden folk so eager to defend him when you are so often his victims?" Engner scoffed. "Do you really believe that the monster deserves less? He tried to murder the precious son he gave you, the same son he has used against you all of your life! Do you realize that if you had been struck by that spear an inch more to the left, he would have murdered you too?"

"It was an accident!" she continued to defend him. "You made him feel cornered and provoked the attack! He knew no other way to react. If only you had thrown him out the Gates-"

"You know better," Turgon interrupted. "You led him here and now he can never leave. His hatred for the Noldor is so deep that he will most certainly sell our secrets if only to see my city burn. He would be a most troublesome prisoner. What would you have me do?"

"Give him time," she pleaded. "After such acts, he becomes gentle and contrite. Perhaps if I were to go to him-"

"You do not really mean to leave him, do you?" Engner said with a trace of sadness. "All your talk in the last hour was excitement, nothing more."

"No," in that she held firm. "I am done being his wife, but I can never sever ties with him that easily. It must be a gradual process. Allow him to grow used to Gondolin. Perhaps he is mentally disturbed and needs healers. You cannot simply kill him!"

Turgon looked at her thoughtfully and said at last, "We shall decide his fate with a fair trial and analyze him for illness. I have shown mercy with this simple gesture."

"Thank you, brother," Aredhel kissed him. "I do not deny Eöl has transgressed, but I do not want to see him dead. Somehow I know that my fate is intertwined with his. Besides, I can think of no greater torment for him than to be hostage to the Noldor. Now if you do not mind, I feel exhausted in mind and body after all that has happened. May I return to my old bedchamber to rest?"

"Of course!" Turgon exclaimed. "The sun is setting and you will need rest for speedy healing. We have left your room just as it was. I do not feel comfortable leaving you alone. Allow my daughter to accompany you. I am sure she is eager to catch you up upon all that has befallen her in her years growing up. It is also a chance for Maeglin and her to properly acquaint themselves."

"Yes," she agreed. "That would be fitting indeed."

Engner kissed Aredhel goodnight and Idril brought them to the White Lady's old chambers. She was amazed that everything had been left exactly as it was. Even her old diary had not been handled. She flipped through some of the pages, scanning words and phrases. How naïve she had been then! She had kept no diary in Nan Elmoth. Even if Eöl could not read the old tongue, he would have assumed it was only full of plots and secrets, and if she had written in the Sindarin script, he would have read it. She would not risk trying to keep one. Her wardrobe was all in place, and the bed was still unmade and wrinkled. She had always left that chore for her servants.

"I would have expected you to move into my chambers as soon as you came of age and inherited my title, Celebrindal," Aredhel said.

Idril answered, "I could not dream of doing such a thing. I would have refused the title as well, if my father had allowed it. I always knew that you were not dead. It was at my express orders that the room was left as it was. My own chambers are elsewhere and quite humble."

"Why would you choose such lodgings?" Maeglin said with a touch of humor. "A Princess deserves dozens of rooms for all of her needs and wants."

Idril, it seemed, lacked of humor and said with all seriousness, "I require little that I cannot provide myself. I do not keep much company, and I own very few possessions."

"Have you been very lonely, my child?" Aredhel began stroking her hair. "I should have never left you alone to be raised by my brother. I love him well, but it is hard to raise a child alone."

"I managed. When Engner finally returned after searching for you, he became like a second father to me. Since I knew he had done everything in his power to guard and guide you, I loved him. He has taught me much and visits me often."

Aredhel was very pleased at those words but asked, "Have you no other friends?"

Idril glanced at Maeglin. She did not like revealing so much about herself in his presence. He was a stranger to her, but she craved to tell her aunt all and she knew she could not separate Maeglin from her.

"I find relationships… difficult to maintain. It is no matter, there are so many other things."

"I understand how that must feel," Maeglin said.

Idril made no reply. As they talked, Aredhel began to feel ill. Her chills worsened, and yet her skin felt aflame. It was as though a fire had been set in her flesh. She did not speak of it for a while. She did not know it was serious until her shoulder became numb and then the rest of her arm. The fire spread and she began to have violent throes. Maeglin and Idril rushed her to the healers.

The king was told at once and rose from sleep to go to her. Engner was at his side. The healers were puzzled. They did not understand Aredhel's strange symptoms and did not know how to treat her. They gave her purging potions and bled her, but she was rapidly declining. Her wound did not appear festered, but they could only assume it was the cause.

Suddenly, a wave of horror swept over Maeglin and he cried, "Someone ask my father what he put on that javelin!"

Engner responded at once. He hurried swiftly down to Eöl's cell. When Engner approached, Eöl sprang and caught the bars. He was laughing.

"I have been shouting to the damn guards to let me get but one word to Turgon or anyone! No one would come. And now you are here! How is my beloved wife?"

"She is dying!"

"As I expected. Can the healers saver her or not?"

"Why would you expect such a thing? One such as her should never be ill! What have you done?"

"The javelin was poisoned so that even if Maeglin had received no more than a scratch, he would join me in death." Engner turned to rush back to the healers to tell them, but Eöl continued, "It was a special type of poison and can only be treated if the specific poison is known. I am afraid it may be too late to save her. If I had not been assailed by so many and been allowed to speak, I would have told you what the poison was. Now, I will no longer tell you what poison I used."

"What do you mean? You will condemn Aredhel to death! How could you? What kind of a father would murder his son or a husband his wife? It goes against all nature and morality!"

"Your benevolent king gave me no other choice. He commanded me to choose and I did. I never wanted my son to become one of my enemies, and he had betrayed me and every virtue that I ever held dear and instilled in him! Aredhel was not to be harmed, but now I am glad that it was her that I hit. If I am to die now, I would rather have my consort join me than my spurious son. Turgon can have him. In time he will realize that I have nursed a viper for Gondolin and its people."

"Be glad those bars separate us!" Engner snarled. "Aredhel was not to be harmed? You tormented her all of her life! You robbed her from me and you cannot even allow her true happiness now! I must know the poison. What was it? You know what it was!"

"Of course," Eöl smiled a wry smile. "It is my poison, but I will never reveal it. Interrogate me, maim me, kill me, it will make no difference. If I cannot have Aredhel, no one can."

"If she lives, you will be spared!" Engner said desperately, though the words tasted of bile. "You will redeem yourself. Perhaps her heart will turn to you again and she will not divorce you. You cannot let her die like this! She is too fair and strong willed! What if I promised never to pursue her?"

"Have you listened to a word I have said! Even if I wanted to save her, it is too late now, you fool!" Eöl bellowed. "She will be dead within the hour."

"Then so shall you."

Engner returned to Aredhel with a heavy heart. Her family was about her. The healers had done everything they could. They had analyzed the substance upon the javelin and confirmed their worst fears. Eöl was telling the truth. They could not identify the poison. Perhaps it was some deadly hemlock that grew only in the shadows of Nan Elmoth or a fungus that grew only in the dark and dank caves of the Dwarves. Whatever it was, the secret would die with Aredhel and Eöl. They had given Aredhel a draught to deaden her pain and ease her passing. They had only a few precious minutes to say farewell.

"Mother. You are dying," Maeglin was tearless, but anyone could see by the look in his eyes and the pain in his voice that he was devastated.

"He has finally killed me," she said with a mirthless laugh. "I always knew that he would."

"With poison, nonetheless! That is so petty! That javelin was meant for me!"

"Better me than you, my son."

"But you cannot leave me! You always said you would never leave me!"

"I do not leave by choice. You are here in Gondolin, and you are grown. You have no need of my protection anymore."

"Auntie," Idril wept. "It is even as I said all those years ago: You will not rest but one night behind these walls. Curse foresight! What good is it if you can change nothing?"

Aredhel managed a weak laugh, "Yes, you were right, dearer than daughter. You were always right. From the mouths of babes, wisdom comes and we refuse to see it. Forgive me that I doubted you. Forgive me for abandoning you. It is not just Maeglin I leave behind. You must lose me all over again. My poor child. Your whole life has been plagued with sorrow, but I promise you that you shall find happiness. I love you, dearer than daughter!"

"We all failed to protect you," Turgon said.

"Oh, enough," Aredhel scolded. "If ever I needed protection it was from myself. My pride and restlessness. I was ever a pain, brother. I took your lovely halls for granted. Think fondly of me after I am gone."

"A part of me will die with you, sister."

"Tell my brother Fingon that I was wrong never to have visited him. I love him well, though we were never as close as you and I, Turgon. You are a great king and a good brother."

Aredhel turned to Engner, "I should have demanded that you kiss me that day rather than have left you. Perhaps if I return to Arda in another form, I will find you. You were the one I was meant to be with."

"It is not too late to demand that kiss now."

They kissed a lover's kiss. Engner was afraid to pull away. She was fading fast now and clutched Maeglin's hand.

"Lómion, you must promise me something."

He nodded, knowing if he tried to speak he would only croak and fall apart.

"Promise me that you will care for your cousin Idril and for your uncle. They are your family. Obey your king and protect Gondolin. Protect the home and family I loved so well."

"I will."

"I love you, my son. I love you, Lómion."

The draught the healers had given her was not enough to conceal all of her suffering. She had a spasm of pain. Turgon and Engner thought it was her last death throe. The king rushed out of the room, he could not bear the sight.

"It is time to deal justice to that Dark Elf!" he snarled and Engner followed, as eager as he was.

Aredhel gasped and cried out, but they were out of earshot already, "No! Do not kill him!"

Even though life was leaving her veins, she desperately clung to it for one last word. To Maeglin's amaze, she managed to sit up, clasping his shoulder with one hand and reaching for Idril's with the other.

"My son," she said. "Do not let them slay your father! Idril, make my brother see reason! Do not let rage and vengeance overtake Gondolin! Please! My dying wish… Do not let them kill him…"

She drew in one last breath, sank back into her pillow, and slowly let it out. She said nothing more and did not move again. Maeglin rested his head upon her breast. There was no heart beat or sign of breathing. Idril stood at once.

"What are you doing?" she said. "You heard what she said! We must stop them from executing Eöl!"

Maeglin looked up at her but said nothing as though he could not comprehend.

"Are you mad? Come on!"

She pulled him to his feet and they hurried to find Turgon had reached Eöl's cell. But he had been dragged forth from his cell and taken immediately to the Caragdur. It was a precipice of black rock upon the north side of the Hill of the city. Turgon gathered his lords and counselors and set Eöl in their midst, still chained and scowling. He began pronouncing his deeds. It sounded like the proceedings of an execution.

"Father, do not touch him! It was Aredhel's wish that he be spared!" Idril cried.

"Idril, if you must interrupt you will be escorted away from this place," Turgon replied coldly.

The body of Aredhel had been carried there as soon as Maeglin and Idril left her. She was set before Eöl so that he could see the fruit of his sin.

"Here now is the wife you so mistreated! You have robbed my sister of her immortal life! She is dead by your hand! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"This death was not meant for her, but if I had the means it would be for you and all your great lords!" he snapped.

He stroked Aredhel's hair and Engner broke from his place among the court and shoved him away.

"Do not touch her! Leave the dead in peace!" he was hysterical with his grief and rage.

"You shall be cast over the walls of the city to justify her death," Turgon announced. "Long shall Mandos hold you in his keeping!"

"I shall do the honors," Engner volunteered, placing a hand upon Eöl's broad shoulder. "I wish I could kill you twice!"

"No!" Idril protested. "Maeglin, he is still your father. If anyone should have a say in his fate it should be you!"

She looked to him for aid, but he looked on and said nothing.

Eöl turned to her, "So you would save my life?"

"It was my aunt's last wish. I must respect it."

"Your aunt?" he studied her carefully and noted the way Maeglin watched her and laughed. "Yes, I see now. You carry Aredhel's blood; perhaps you shall share her fate someday."

"Do you now make threats upon my daughter?" Turgon snapped. "Even though she is the only one that will defend you?"

"We have heard enough," his courtiers declared. "Kill him!"

"My pleasure," Engner forced Eöl to his feet and led him to the edge of the precipice.

"So you forsake your father and his kin, ill-gotten son!" he spoke his last words to Maeglin. "Here you shall fail of all your hopes and here you shall yet die the same death as I!"

Engner cast him over the Caragdur. He fell upon the rocks, and his body was shattered instantly. So Eöl the Dark Elf perished, and to all in Gondolin his execution seemed just. To all but Idril, of course. She turned her face away. Maeglin smiled for an instant then was silent and betrayed no emotion. Idril was the only one that caught his smile and found it disturbing. The smile seemed horribly misplaced. She kneeled beside Aredhel and was troubled. Troubled that she was unable to grant her last wish, that Eöl had been judged so swiftly and harshly, his words to her, and Maeglin's obvious pleasure in his own father's death. She knew already that Maeglin had little reason to love his father, but to stand by and let Eöl die as he did, with such apathy, seemed monstrous to her.

While Aredhel Ar-Fenial received a regal funeral as befit a child of kings, Eöl received only a simple sky burial. No one would retrieve his corpse, fearful that his curse might somehow infest the city and its people. The birds picked his bones clean, the elements bleached them white, and since he had fallen somewhere between the rocks, tucked out of sight, he was forgotten. No one in Gondolin liked to speak of unpleasant things, and Eöl had been one of the few true villains among the Eldar. They preferred not to glorify such deeds and focused instead upon his victim.

The whole city went out into the streets with flowers to offer their condolences, share their grief, and glimpse the once admirable and beautiful White Lady of Gondolin. Though she had been seen as unconventional in her youth, the circumstances of her long absence and death was a tragedy that the people became deeply touched by. She had proven to be an intrepid and selfless mother, sacrificing herself so that her son could live and at last throwing off the yoke of her abusive husband.

Engner never courted anyone, even though he and Aredhel had never technically been lovers by some standards. They had exchanged several kisses, but he knew she had been the only one he could ever love. He had no hope of finding it again until she was restored to the world or if he found her in Valinor when he died. He had grown used to being a bachelor anyway. He had already disestablished his career as a tracker. He occupied his time by drawing and making maps and became a scholar and artist. His friendship with Idril Celebrindal deepened. After Aredhel's death she became even more introverted and angry. She needed all the comfort she could get, especially since Turgon seemed more concerned about other things. She found herself drifting further from her father. Though he tried to reach his daughter, it was not possible. Instead, she came to think of Engner more so her father. They visited Aredhel's grave often together.

Turgon was devastated by his sister's death. He came to regret not that Eöl was dead, only that he had been so hasty. His grief had made his judgment rash and he had lost his temper. He was a king that was famed for his patience and easy temperament. He became much stricter with passage in and out of Gondolin. Since most of the Golodrim never desired to leave anyway, they were not bothered. Turgon focused again upon building projects, repairing and fortifying the walls and defenses, making the city ever more beautiful and great. He treated it more and more as though the city itself was a child of his own. And, of course, he grew to love his nephew, warming to him swiftly since he was all that remained of his sister upon Arda. He had always wanted a son, more so than he had wanted a daughter, though he would never admit it, and Maeglin had everything one could desire in a son.

Maeglin did not grieve publicly for his mother. He took his grief and anger behind closed doors. He found it difficult to make friends or to even walk the streets of Gondolin for a while, fearful that the stigma surrounding the events of his birth and first night in the city would haunt him forever. He was pleasantly surprised that this was not so. Since he bore the look of the Noldor and his mother, it made things easier. He also found that the Golodrim were quick to forgive and forget if they could most anything, and even if they did not wish to accept him, he was now a prince. Who would dare to rebuff the nephew of King Turgon, especially since he took every chance to praise him? He was hailed upon sight, strangers offered him drinks, and young maids blushed if he so much as looked upon them.

He found that pleasant. He had never thought of himself as handsome since he had little opportunity to court the scarce girls in Nan Elmoth and his father was quick to criticize his Noldoli features. Now he realized that not only was he handsome, but his muscular physique, the one physical attribute he had inherited from Eöl, was seen as unique by the maidens of Gondolin who were more accustomed to slender and more delicate males. He observed that many of the maids of Gondolin were fair and eagerly took up courting. He became as notorious as Aredhel for breaking hearts. His romances were many and brief. He often took his mistresses to bed and they parted the next night which was something Aredhel would never do. Though he enjoyed their company, Maeglin found not a single one that satisfied all his needs. If his desire for flesh was insatiable, so was his lust for power.

Maeglin was eager to prove himself to his new kin and his king. He started with what he was best at, mining in the mountains of the Echoriath and seeing what sorts of new metals he could create with what he found. Though he listened to all that the other smiths had to demonstrate, he had even more to teach. He revealed the secret of galvorn to the Golodrim. It became popular since it was so flexible, and though it was not the toughest of their armor, it was excellent for archers who would be protected by the walls anyway and needed the dexterity to aim. After mining and experimenting he discovered new steel which he shaped into blades. It proved stronger and more durable than previous steels, a great discovery indeed.

His next agenda was oratory, attending the council meetings, adding his voice to whatever was being discussed. He was prudent and bided his time at first, allowing long respected members to have their say, and then he attacked them with his powerful voice. He was aggressive and also had a strange way of manipulating his words and twisting others' so that even if his argument was not at first sound, it became so in the minds of his audience. His charisma was soon recognized as well as his wisdom and he was nominated by the council, not the king himself, to be chief counselor of Turgon.

His next step was to mass produce the new steel so that every soldier would be armed with a sword of its ilk. He took many apprentices and taught them how to fold over the steel upon itself. It was soon put to the test since trouble came upon Fingon and the Golodrim came to his aid in one of the Great Battles. Maeglin was allowed his own regiment. His men came to respect him despite his youth and never having fought a single battle, for he showed remarkable discipline and leadership. He was also fearless and merciless to the Enemy, using aggressive tactics and pursuing the Enemy even as they fled before him. Because of his steel and his cunning on the battlefield, the fight was won, or so he was credited. The Enemy was crushed into the dust. He returned to the city a war hero.

It was also in this battle that he became familiar with the new race of Men. Húrin and Hour, two young lords of the House of Hador, won great favors on the field as well. They were tall men and fair with heads of gold. Turgon came to admire the brothers' courage and saw how they inspired their own men. Húrin and Hour were granted a rare privilege. The Eagles carried them to Gondolin, and they alone of mortal men were allowed to look upon the Forbidden City and were welcomed by King Turgon and granted brief sanctuary there. Maeglin advised against it, for he was proud and did not love men. He saw Dwarves as useful allies, but he could not look upon Men as anything more than shields in battle. He warned that Men were untrustworthy and Húrin or Hour, perhaps both, would betray their secrets. He was astonished that Turgon rebuffed him for the first time.

"It is not our place to judge mankind, sister-son," he said. "Unlike us, they were not guided from the beginning by the Valar. They were lost and alone until Finrod Felagund came upon them. They have flaws, but are we really so different after all? These are our younger brothers and should never be seen as our enemies. I have seen them fight bravely upon the battlefield against Morgoth and his servants. What more could you ask of them when they are willing to give up their lives?"

And even as Hour and his brother were about to leave the city, something possessed him to say to Turgon, "From you and from me someday, a new star shall rise."

He thought that only the king had heard him, but Maeglin was nearby and heard his words. Neither of them forgot them.

Maeglin was angry that the king could ever disagree with him in anything and found it curious that he had warmed to Húrin and Hour so quickly. He was glad that no other Men were allowed in Gondolin. But the matter proved that he had not won his uncle's heart completely. His advice after the terrible war was that Turgon build a seventh gate using the new steel. In a massive building project, it was done. In this way, Maeglin made his mark upon the city by making the strongest and tallest of the seven gates and it was the first thing that their enemies would be greeted with should they try to breach the city.

In a few short years, Maeglin had fast become one of the most powerful of the princes of Beleriand. Turgon soon sat him near his throne so that Maeglin was on his right and his daughter Idril was on his left. It was clear to Idril that her father had set him even above her. Despite all of his success, Maeglin was not happy. He wished that Aredhel was alive to see his achievements. Everything he did seemed less grand. And even though he gained a following in the city, he had no true friends. Engner had tried to play the paternal guardian for the sake of his mother's memory, but Maeglin made him uneasy. His ascension to the throne was still in doubt, and there was no telling if Turgon would ever need an heir to take his place.

Maeglin revealed his mind to no one unless it was Idril Celebrindal, and he only allowed her glances while he was vulnerable.

Idril came upon him once as she visited Aredhel's tomb. She had thought she was alone until she almost bumped into him. He was curled up against the wall of the tomb, weeping. She took pity upon him and stooped to comfort him.

"Cousin," she placed her hand on his shoulder, "I know what it is like to lose a mother."

"Yes, you do," he consented. "But you do not understand what our life was like in Nan Elmoth. What it was like with him!"

It was then that he told her of his childhood and all that had befallen him and his mother in Nan Elmoth. The pain he had never shared with anyone poured out of him all at once after so many years burying it. Idril listened intently in growing horror. Never had she imagined that Eöl had been so cruel. Yet she knew there was something Maeglin was not telling her. He told her everything, leaving out only the part in which he slaughtered all the servants in Nan Elmoth. He kept that dark secret to himself and wisely so.

"I fear that I have troubled you unfairly," he apologized. "There is little you can do about my past. I let my mind wander as I spoke. Forgive me, but you are the only one I trust in this city."

"What do you mean? No one in Gondolin is untrustworthy and everyone adores you. You have done so much for the city. Has someone done something, said something-"

"No, they are all fine people and they have all been cordial. It is just that I always imagined when I was a boy that as soon as I came to Gondolin everything would be different. Mother would finally be happy again and my father's memory would fade. It seems that I have all that I desire, but no one to share it with. And if there are those that love me publicly, there are many more that are indifferent or even despise me. I have made a fool of myself courting so many maidens. I have had ill luck in that aspect of my life. My own feelings confuse me."

He locked eyes with her as he said this, and she began to feel very uncomfortable. As their conversation started, he had taken her hand and as it ensued, put the other about her. Now he pulled her close to him and began running his fingers through her hair. He had always found her hair so irresistible, fragrant and golden as the first time he had seen the sun.

"I have watched you since first I came here," he confessed, "and yet you are still an enigma to me. I find you fascinating. I especially love to watch you speak at council. You are more talented than the other lords and ladies, and yet you speak so seldom. When you are not at court you wander Gondolin, working in the House of Play or the Houses of Healing, or you are looking over scrolls in the library. You always walk alone. I do not think you have ever courted a single suitor. Your serving maids do not flock about you as other ladies have them do. You seldom laugh or smile, but when you do, it is an amazing thing. Perhaps you do understand me, better than I understand myself. You are alone as I am."

"I have all that I need," she replied.

"You tell yourself that on those cold, lonely nights; those nights when the regrets of the past come to haunt you and you realize that you are losing touch with everyone around you. I know. I know all there is to know about you. We are already connected by blood, but there is more than the familial ties. Deep down you know it too. I wish that I did not have to draw it from you discretely. I had hoped you would come to me with your sorrows, that we might comfort each other sooner."

He drew close to her, his nose almost touching hers. He was becoming so intimate that it made her think of a lover and she shivered. She tried to pull away, but he clutched her tight and she experienced first-hand the strength he had inherited from his father.

"Maeglin, you are hurting me," she complained.

"Forgive me," he immediately let her go. "I forget my strength sometimes. I did not mean to hurt you. Believe me; I harbor nothing but love for you."

"I appreciate that."

He laughed, almost bitterly, "Is that all you have to say? I appreciate that?"

"What more do you want of me, kinsman?"

He looked annoyed that she would even ask, "Everything."

He quickly leaned forward and stole a chaste kiss upon her brow and gauged her reaction. She seemed unperturbed. Encouraged, he wanted to see how far he could go. He kissed her eyes, then the tip of her nose. With each little kiss, she grew more and more confused and alarmed but felt as though she were paralyzed. With each kiss, his breath became heavier. He gave her a brotherly kiss upon the lips. Then he pushed forward for a more passionate one. She turned her face away just in time to miss it and lurched to her feet, having reached the end of her rope. Maeglin did not stop her, though he wanted to. He wanted to bar her path and pin her to the floor and take all that he desired. The call to do so was almost irresistible for a moment, and Aredhel saw a flash of his lust in his eyes. It frightened her.

"Maeglin-"

"I wish you would not call me that. I would think that after so many years you no longer needed permission to call me by my childhood name."

"Cousin then. That is what I shall call you, for that you are and we must never forget that."

"We are cousins and yet you do not seem to enjoy my company."

"I find it hard to enjoy anyone's company. That is just how I am. Father always said I was a moody child that talked moonshine like my aunt."

"He is unfair."

"It seems you know my father better than I do," she said with a hint of jealousy.

"He will not be king forever," Maeglin said. "Even kings have been slain before. If the Valar are willing, he will rule for many ages, but eventually he will grow world-weary. Perhaps we shall rule together, side by side. Even if he named me his heir, I would never dream of stealing your birthright."

"That is good of you," Idril did not know what else to say.

"Perhaps if I become king, I can change several things."

"What needs changing?" she was curious now.

He smiled enigmatically, "Oh, just minor details."

After that day, Idril never allowed Maeglin an opportunity to be alone with her again. As the years passed, he watched her and waited, hoping that by some miracle her heart would turn to him. Perhaps if their feelings were mutual Turgon would allow a marriage. His was the only approval that mattered and his throne would pass to someone of his own blood in truth. But Idril did not return his affections. Eventually his love turned to darkness in his heart. Thus it was in Gondolin amidst the peace and bliss of that city that a dark seed of evil was sewn.


	7. Tuor

Rian was only a child when she was orphaned and taken in by the House of Hador. She was once one of the privileged daughters of the Edain, the noblest of Men. Her father was Baragund, one of Barahir's nephews, and he was one of the twelve companions of Barahir that were all later slaughtered as they slept, all save his son Beren. When Dorthonion was overrun by Morgoth, Barahir the lord of her house had wisely sent away the women and children days before, sparing them of the sack of Ladros. However, he could spare few warriors to guard them upon the road. In truth the only proper guardians they had was his wife Emeldir, a shield maiden and green boys. Emeldir boldly led them forth with the goal to seek their allies the Elves in Nargothrond. But they were waylaid by a band of Orcs, stragglers from the main regiment with the sole purpose of raiding and burning whatever the Men of the Edain owned. The Orcs intended to drag the women and children back to Angband as thralls. But it was the House of Hador, another powerful branch of Edain that intervened.

Húrin and his brother Huor came upon the captives and the Orcs by chance and were outnumbered. They had simply been in the area clearing out wolves. Realizing these Orcs were not common brigands and that they had hostages, they scrambled to rescue them. They could not be swift enough. The Orcs always killed their captives rather than allowed them to be freed. Rian's mother was slain by the Orcs, as well as the Lady Emeldir and most of the women of Bëor. Of Bëor's direct descendants, only her cousin Morwen and herself remained.

The refugees had nowhere to go. Some returned to Dorthonion, hoping a few of the men had survived or that their homes were not burnt. Several went to Nargothrond. Most were welcomed by the House of Hador and went to Dor-lomin or Brethil. As for Morwen and Rian, it was only fitting that they be matched in marriage to Húrin and Huor both to preserve the blood of Bëor and to protect them.

Morwen was already a young woman, and her heart turned to Húrin the moment he rescued her. They were about to slit her throat when he came from behind and put his dirk in the Orc's skull. When his eyes met hers, he was stunned for a moment, forgetting the cries of war about him. She was the fairest of women but had such sad eyes. After the battle was over he sought her out to make sure she was safe, her eyes haunted him so. She was strong, and at times her strength made her seem icy and cold. She also lost her father Belegund and her mother. When she was with Húrin, however, she felt safe and less guarded. She was grateful to him, and when they were properly introduced, it seemed only right that they should wed and they married soon after. She bore him a son within a year that would become Túrin the Dragon slayer, and a daughter named Urwen who never lived past her third year.

Rian was another matter though. She was still very young, too young to be wed immediately. Indeed Húrin did not know what to do with her for a long while. He allowed her to dwell in Dor-lomin, deciding the matter could wait until she came of age. It was Hour that decided to hasten the wedding. Even though she was only fifteen at the time, he felt it was his duty to protect her. He also had a strange feeling that he must wed soon. He was a stranger to her, for he always seemed to be gone from Dor-lomin. It was rumored he had more dealings with the Elves than his brother, especially after Húrin wed and settled down with his family. Even though Huor was the younger brother, he was still almost twice her age. No one really asked what she wanted. Even if they had, she would not have known how to reply. She always felt awkward and out of place. She wished she was like her cousin Morwen and envied her that she already had two children.

"The boy looks just like you," she said to her cousin. "But Urwen is more like her father."

Instead of the house of Hador's usual gold, Túrin had a head of ebony after the fashion of Bëor. Morwen herself had chestnut brown hair. The babe also had her gray eyes and like her was often silent and rarely cried. Rian had wept every night since she left Ladros. Morwen had never shed a tear, neither did she laugh or smile. Sometimes Rian thought she was made of stone. Urwen had hair yellow as the water lilies in the pools about Dor-lomin, and she was a happy child. She was always laughing and smiling. Her eyes were blue, and she was everyone's favorite child.

"Urwen is ill with the strange sickness that has been killing the children," Morwen said. "I fear that I might lose her."

"If the Valar are willing, she will be spared. They want me to wed Huor," she sighed. "If I have children, yours and mine will be cousins in the first and second degree. I hope he likes me. I hope my children will be healthy. I hope he is a good father. I hope he is handsome."

She threatened to weep again. Morwen only stared for a long while, betraying nothing. Rian was young, but she was annoyed that a Lady of the Edain would be so frightened and timid.

"Húrin is gentle enough to me. You are young and pretty, and if Huor is like his brother, you should do well for yourself. Even so, handsome or not, young or old, cruel or kind, it is your lot. His too. You must be strong now for the sake of whatever children you are destined to bear. I suggest you be hasty. Our husbands are ever prepared for war and death."

With that advice Morwen left her to her fate. Rian awaited the arrival of her groom anxiously. At last, he rode toward her upon his horse. He was a man of Hador in truth. He was tall, broad, and blond. At twenty-five he was also a grizzled veteran of war. She feared him at first. He looked quite stern in his armor and looked upon her, not quite sure what to do. She was trembling.

"Are you cold, milady?" he asked.

"A little," she replied.

He stooped in his saddle and wrapped his own cloak about her. Even this small gesture of kindness helped ease the tension. She realized he must be nervous too. Húrin had wooed Morwen, but Huor and Rian's coupling had been arranged.

"Am I to dwell with you in Dor-lomin, my lord?" she asked.

"If you are willing," Huor answered. "Though our kin demands we wed, I will do nothing against your will."

She loved him for that alone. When he offered his hand, she took it, and a strange sensation crawled up her arm. He pulled her into his saddle and brought her to his house. Huor kept his promise. He did nothing she did not want and was gentle and affectionate. His house was grand like his brother's. She was of the mighty House of Bëor, but of a lesser branch. Huor and his brother were the high lords of the House of Hador, younger but just as great as the House of Bëor, especially since it was all but diminished now. Rian's status had skyrocketed from rather humble origin. It seemed a great weight had been put on her shoulders and she was not like Morwen.

Huor managed to comfort her for a while. She grew to love him, even though she thought she had become incapable of it. Morwen's daughter did indeed succumb to the strange plague. Rian wept for her and all the little children that had been lost. There had been so few to begin with after the fall of Dorthonion. She wept for her father and mother, for herself. Huor kissed her and promised that they would have their own family soon. She did not need to feel alone anymore. She wanted to believe him so badly. But she was a bride no more than two months. Huor and his brother marched to the Nirnaeth, one of the great battles, and she heard no word of him again. She became distraught and determined she would find him. She left against all logic and reasoning and wandered into the wild. She did not want to lose what she had gained.

After searching for days, she became lost, cold, and weak. There was no sign of Huor. How could there be? Fortune was not so kind. She realized what a fool she had been. No doubt Morwen would tell her children that their aunt had gone mad and perished in the woods. She lost hope and curled up into the hollow trunk of a tree and slept. But it seemed fortune was not without mercy. Elves were traveling through the forest. Their leader was Annael, and his people dwelt in the mountains westward of Lake Mithrim. He had led a small band there to hunt and came by Rian by accident.

He called to the others immediately, "A young girl. She must be lost."

"Who is she?" the others became quite curious. "Wake her and see!"

But one brushed her hair from her face and frowned. "She is one of the daughters of Men. If you take her, her whole hive will misunderstand and kill every last one of us. She would be nothing but a burden anyway. Leave her! Death is her Gift, let her enjoy it!"

"I did not realize you knew Orc speech," Annael said darkly. "Woman or She-Elf, she needs assistance. Two hearts beat here."

"She is with child!"

That was enough for the rest of the company. The Eldar never turned away little ones and were compassionate people. Moreover, none of them had seen a human baby. They lifted her up and began to carry her, chatting excitedly. Their former opponent did not gainsay them. He too was curious but would not admit it.

"With child, eh?" he said grudgingly. "Intensive care. It leaves us with another mouth to feed."

There were no more complaints after that. They brought Rian to their dwelling. When she awoke to find herself in a strange place, she gasped. At the sight of their fair faces, she was instantly relieved. She had never seen Elves before, but they had done much for her kin. They gathered about her inquisitively.

"What is your name?" Annael spoke the Silvan tongue.

Rian blushed. While many of Bëor's house had learned Quenya and the other elf languages, she knew only a few words and shook her head. Annael understood and spoke the common tongue.

"Who are you?"

"Rian of the houses Hador and Bëor."

"Both houses are Edain. I am honored. My name is Annael. You may dwell with us for a while, at least until your son is born."

"What!"

The Elves burst out laughing, "You are almost in your second month of pregnancy," he explained. "It is our business to know such things."

Rian was speechless. She had not expected to become pregnant so soon. She did not know how to react to such news. She did not feel changed. The first thought she had was that now no one could say she did not provide an heir. She was satisfied with the baby's sex, but the Elves seemed more delighted than she was. They immediately bombarded her with food and drink, with questions and their advice. For the rest of her pregnancy they pampered her, and when the birth itself came, it went easy for her. The Elves had some sort of magic to make it quick and less painful. She was not bed ridden for long.

Annael fetched the babe from a crib he had made himself. The infant wailed for milk. The Elves cooed to him and loved him instantly. In their youth, there was no noticeable difference between Elves and Men. He was healthy and whole with golden hair.

Rian nursed him and said, "His name will be Tuor, for that is what his father wanted. He mentioned so to me once, the night we… said farewell. I know it is much to ask, but I beg you to foster him and keep him hidden at least until I find my husband. Dor-lomin is not safe with our lords gone and I long to be reunited with Huor."

Annael's smile faded. She recognized pity in his eyes and knew he had ill news for her. "Lady," he struggled to tell her, "I fought in the Nirnaeth and was the only one that survived of all my kin that went to war. Huor fell at the side of his brother and lays in the great hill of the slain the Orcs piled upon the battlefield."

Rian became pale and silent. She clutched her son and gazed upon him in inner turmoil. She had shed tears for her parents, for her home and kin. She had allowed herself to love Huor, the last hope she had of having the family and warmth and love she had always craved. Now even he had been taken from her. How could she love her son? She could take no more grief. She let go of him in her heart and placed him back in his crib, leaving him the golden pin in her hair, the last thing of value she had to give as well as a strand of her hair. Then she left their dwelling without a word to anyone and never returned.

Annael went searching for her, thinking she had simply lost her way again, but she was not found this time. He brought Tuor with him and called for her, hoping the wails of her hungry babe would penetrate Rian's grief stricken mind and bring her back. He knew the mothering instinct was as strong in women as it was among his own people. But she was gone, a cold wind began to blow, and freezing rain fell. Tuor's cries became shrill and insistent. Annael tucked him into his cloak to keep him warm and stood frozen for a moment, overwhelmed. He had wanted to save Rian, but to his knowledge she was most likely dead. He had to think of the baby now.

Annael abandoned the search reluctantly. He was sad for Rian. Some were angry and horrified at her actions. No Elf would abandon their child and wander away with the purpose to die. But Annael defended her. Rian had been a child herself and lost more in her fifteen years than most of them had lost in ages and ages. He would not blame the girl. To honor her last wish, he reared Tuor alongside his own daughter. She was older and so became almost like a mother to him. She loved to carry him around and call him 'hers'.

Tuor's earliest memory was being taught to swim in the lakes. Annael would toss him in, and Elia would catch him and splash him. Tuor grew into a tall youth, golden haired like his father. His eyes were bright and sea-green. Because he was raised by the Eldar, he had knowledge as much as any of the princes of the Edain. He spoke the Elf-tongues as well as the Common, learned to read and write to wield bow and sword, to hunt, even to read stars and maps. Annael and his people treated him as one of them in truth. He quickly won the hearts of all his kin. He was of easy temperament as a toddler and child which became prudence as he grew. He listened patiently to the counsel of others. He saw that Annael led his people not as an overlord but rather like a chieftain and modeled himself after his foster-father.

He did have some unusual habits. Any pool of standing water seemed to fascinate him. He would spend hours treading water in the lake. He felt at peace in the water and could swear that he heard bubbling voices beckoning him. The people joked that he was half a fish. He knew from a very early age that he was different. He noticed signs of it gradually over the years. He aged much quicker than Annael's daughter. At twelve he was taller than most of those around him and the Eldar usually were taller in stature than most Men. But Tuor would later hold the record amongst his people. He wondered who his mother had been. Annael never spoke of his wife, so for many years he assumed he must be some sort of hybrid. He never questioned his suspicions and called Annael his father and Elia his sister all the same. In fact he never really thought of his true lineage or even his race until he encountered his own kind.

In Tuor's twelfth year some of Annael's people began to vanish. To discover the reason for this, Annael led the entire population into the open, knowing there was safety in numbers. It was the furthest Tuor had ever been from the mountain dwellings. Annael was very protective of him, not only because he was the youngest of them, but also because he was one of the last of the princes of the Edain. Tuor had soldiers all about him and was required to hold someone's hand at all times.

Annael's daughter was the next youngest but a teenager according to her kind. She walked along the outer line of the group, dragging her hand along the mountain walls absentmindedly. Suddenly, she came across an opening. Many hands reached out and seized her. An elf stepped up to her defense, was wounded, and seized as well. An alarm swept through the group.

"Tuor, get behind me!" Annael commanded. "In a circle, everyone! Back to back! In a circle!"

They obeyed, creating a circle with swords and shields forming the outer ring with bowmen littered among the rest. The sharp eyed archers managed to hit the Orcs carrying off their captives, leaving Elia and the other unharmed. Annael embraced his daughter with relief, and Tuor hugged her too. He had become close to her after all.

"It is even as I feared. Orcs have begun tunneling into our mountain. We must abandon our houses and flee to the Caves of Androth," Annael said.

"Why must we flee like cowed dogs?" some demanded.

"Fortune favored us this day. No one was lost. But five of our people have already been captured, most likely slain or dragged off to become thralls of Angband. What would you have us do? Remain where we are where the Orcs know of us? How long before they send a battalion to round us all up? The Enemy does not value the lives of Orcs, but I value each and every one of my kin. I want no more taken."

"But father, what of the village down there?" Tuor pointed down the mountain toward the valley.

Annael looked and answered, "It is not safe."

"Why not?"

He hesitated to answer, "It is a village of Men."

"Men?" Tuor cocked his head. "The Second-born? If it is not safe, are we to let the Orcs have them?"

"They are Men, but they are not Edain, and it is not Orcs that plague them. The village was overrun years ago by the Easterlings."

Tuor was confused but now was not the time to ask questions concerning his race. Annael's daughter was badly shaken as well as the others. They were anxious to find shelter in case more Orcs were on the prowl. They dared not return to their homes. They would not risk walking into a trap. They journeyed to the Caves of Androth and there they had a hard and wary life. Once they had all settled down, Tuor approached Annael with all seriousness.

"You cannot be my father. I have called you that all of my life and you have called me son, but everyone has always known that we are not really bound by blood. Tell me who and what I am."

"It is true," Annael admitted. "You and I are not kin, we are not even kind. You see, Tuor, you are not an elf. That you have long guessed, but neither are you a Half-Elf. My wife died long ago, slain by Orcs as I tried to save her. Elia was our only child."

Tuor bowed his head in disappointment. Somehow he had always felt in his heart that he did not belong amongst Annael's people. He had hoped he was at least Half-Elf. He had been with Elves all of his life and had never even seen another Man. It also meant that things would be different now. His love for his companions and his foster father and sister would still be as strong, but now he knew that he was alone. Mortals lived short lives, so he had been told. There were some, not many but a few, that spoke harshly of Men. If Tuor was nearby they changed the subject or spoke in low whispers, but he caught snatches of their conversation. Men were unpredictable, fast growing in numbers, and violent. All save what they called 'the Edain'.

"Am I the son of one of those wicked men in the village you wanted to get away from?" Tuor was almost afraid to know the answer.

Annael smiled, "You are a human, but not just any child of Man. I knew your mother, and that is how I came to adopt you. As for your father, I shared a battlefield with him, but when I finally saw his face, it had been made pale and cold by death's clammy hands. I have never told you the truth because I made a promise to your mother to keep you safe. Safe from the Enemy and safe from other Men that would kill you because of your legacy. The village you saw was indeed your home. At least it was home to your mother and father ere war came between them. Now it is overrun by others of your kind and you cannot return. They are men that came out of the East and were twisted by Morgoth. They are not inherently evil, but no doubt they would make us all thralls or kill us. They do not love Elves. They fear us and hate us."

Tuor breathed a sigh of relief, "If I am not one of the Easterlings, what am I?"

"You are Tuor son of Lady Rian and Lord Huor of House Hador. They were mighty among the Edain, Elf-friends, and of the First Men. They were once numerous and powerful, but in recent years, their heirs have dwindled. House Bëor might end with Beren. He wed Lúthien, and their children will be heirs to Thingol's throne and are not likely to count themselves amongst Men. The House of Haleth is all but wiped out, their people scattered, and now only you, Tuor and your cousin Túrin remain to someday recapture the glory of House Hador."

Tuor's face brightened, "I have a cousin? I am not alone after all! Where is he?"

"They say that Túrin is being fostered in Doriath by King Thingol. It is quite unusual and the first time a king has adopted a child of another race. No doubt he did it because of Beren. He will be safe there, but I do not think your paths shall ever cross."

"What were my mother and father like?"

"Your father was a great man. He and your uncle Húrin were well loved by Elves and Men alike. You take after him in looks. I knew your mother better. She was pretty, but she was sad. Life was cruel to her and should have been born to a kinder world. She left you with a name and this golden pin. Perhaps you may use it for a broach or something like that. Careful, it is very sharp."

Annael rummaged around in his belongings for a moment, and then held the pin and his mother's strand of hair aloft to the boy. Tuor cautiously took them and studied the keepsakes for a moment, especially the hair. It was lucky he had it. Now he knew his mother had had fine brown hair, and Annael had kept it fragrant with flowers. He pinned the strand of her hair over his heart. Perhaps it was a silly notion, but he hoped that it would bring luck and somehow his mother would be with him.

"You liked my mother?"

"I pitied her. She was very young. While she was pregnant, she sang to you, but when you were born and she discovered the news of Huor's death, she left everything behind. Even you."

"What happened to her?"

"That I cannot say with any certainty. But it is unlikely she is alive."

Tuor tried to fathom why she would abandon him so. He tried to picture her in his mind's eye and struggled to remember her lullabies, but that was no good. He clutched at the pin and found tears were welling in his eyes. His father had died honorably in battle. He knew he must be strong and strive to be like him. If only he had some keepsake from him. Perhaps if he had not been slain Tuor would have been raised among his own kind, most likely by his uncle. Things might have been so different.

"What is to become of me?" he asked.

"That is for you to decide when you come of age. Until then, you will remain in hiding with us. Afterward, you will always be my son."

Tuor hugged him tight. He may never know his real parents, but Annael was all the father he could want and Elia a mother. But Annael was determined to send away what women and children remained among his folk before the darkest hours. Elia took much dissuading.

"Father, I belong with my people! This is not fair! Why does Tuor get to remain with you and the others? He is the one that needs the most protecting!"

Annael gave Tuor a long, hard look, "No. He must stay. Though he is young, I feel a sense of unease taking him forever from his kind. He is the last of the House of Hador. Where you are being sent, there will be few there to properly train him for whatever destiny awaits him."

Tuor was not sure how he should react. He was glad he would not be separated from Annael, but he had to say farewell forever to Elia. As the years passed Annael continued to observe his promise. He taught Tuor all that he knew of war and weapons, of leadership and discipline. They lived their lives like outlaws in the underground. Tuor began to weary of it and longed for the company of others besides gruff Elf men. He began to wander closer and closer to the Man village, seeking a glimpse of his own kind, though Annael warned him that he would not like what he saw.

Annael's words rang painfully true, Tuor discovered. He was a youth of sixteen now, and had honed his woodcraft until he was able to creep almost within the village itself. There he saw his people, the folk of Hador, working the barren fields in rags and chains about their feet. They worked beyond the point of exhaustion, fainting into the dust. When this was noticed by the Easterling guards, they were whipped into submission. It was all Tuor could do to remain hidden and make no sound. And then the Easterlings gathered up men that were fleet of foot and chased them down with their mangy dogs as sport. A child was near mauled to death before his eyes.

Blinded with tears, Tour returned to his foster-father. Annael could sense the rage within him from ten yards away.

He knew what Tuor must have done, but he asked anyway, "What has happened, my child?"

"I went down into my old village. I wanted to see…"

He began to describe what he saw. Annael listened sadly.

"We must do something! Those are my people. You keep saying that I am their lord. I have spent all my life under your instruction, being told that I will deliver them. And yet I have done nothing!"

"And nothing is all that can be done."

Tuor shook his head.

Annael laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You are still young, and the Easterlings are many. My people are far too few. Someday-"

"Someday what? What will happen? What am I to do if not avenge myself and my kin upon the Orcs and the Easterlings?"

"Far hence, I deem, your doom lies, Tuor son of Huor. And this land shall not be freed from the shadow of Morgoth until Thangorodrim itself be overthrown. Therefore we are resolved at last to forsake it, and to depart into the South, and with us you shall go."

"But how shall we escape the net of our enemies?" said Tuor. "For the marching of so many together will surely be marked. I remember the last time we journeyed forth from hiding. Elia was nearly taken and many were wounded."

"We shall not march through the land openly and if our fortune is good we shall come to the secret way which we call Annon-in-Gelydh, the Gate of the Noldor, for it was made by the skill of that people, long ago in the days of Turgon."

At that name, Tuor stirred, though he did not understand why.

"Who is this Turgon you speak of?" he asked.

"He is a son of Fingolfin," Annael explained. "Now he is accounted High King of the Noldor, since the fall of Fingon. For he lives yet, most feared of the foes of Morgoth, and he escaped from the ruin of the Nirnaeth, when Húrin of Dor-lomin and Huor your father held the passes of Sirion behind him."

"Then I will go and seek Turgon," Tuor said suddenly with a great amount of hope. "For surely he will lend me aid for my father's sake?"

"That you cannot," Annael replied. "For his stronghold is hidden from the eyes of Elves and Men, and we know not where it stands. Of the Noldor some, maybe, know the way, but they will speak of it to no one. If you would have speech with them, then come with me, as I bid you, for in the far havens of the South you may meet with wanderers from the Hidden Kingdom."

"Yes," Tuor reluctantly agreed. "It is far better than staying here, hidden, and living in fear and vulnerable. But what of my people? Must they suffer a moment longer?"

"I told you, we can do nothing. They must suffer a while longer. I do not ask you to forget your kinsmen, only that you do not return to that village. At worst you will be captured and killed, at best you will experience little more than grief."

Thus it came to pass that the Elves forsook even the caves of Androth, and Tuor went with them. He certainly could not strike out on his own, much as his restless heart desired it. He had the wisdom to realize that he could not possibly survive on his own. Much as it pained him, he must abandon the lands of his father and mother. He clung to the hope that he would find Noldoli Elves wherever his foster father was taking him. It was probably where he had sent Elia and the others, though he would never confirm it. He would be reunited with her. Then perhaps he could return and take back Annael's home as well as reclaim his own and liberate his people. Then he could truly call himself Huor's son.

They went with great caution, and every one of them was armed and wary of battle. Annael knew it was a great risk. They had not dared such a feat, never allowing any more than two or three at a time to go forth from their hiding for food and tidings and never far. He had weighed his options for a long time now and felt he had no other choice. His scouts and hunters had told him that the mountains were littered with Orcs and the valleys patrolled by the Easterling chariot men. It was only a matter of time before the Caves were found. It was a miracle that they had not been discovered in all these years. The danger of that was growing day by day. Soon, they would not even be able to leave the caves and would either be smoked out by the enemy or trapped within them forever. The caves would become their tomb. He had taken a vote and his remaining folk agreed they would rather be slain or taken in the open. At least some would have a chance of escaping and surviving.

They tried to go swiftly and with stealth, but their enemies had kept watch upon their dwellings, and were soon aware of their marching. They had not gone far from the hills into the plain before they were assailed by a great force of Orcs and Easterlings, and they were scattered far and wide, fleeing into the gathering night. Annael had instructed them to flee rather than fight. Their weapons were in case they were caught, in a last ditch effort to escape. But Tuor's heart was kindled with the fire of battle, and he would not flee as Annael bid him. He wielded his axe as his father had before him, and for a long while he stood his ground and slew many that assailed him.

When Annael saw this, he was torn. If he stayed to defend Tuor, he would be risking his life. He had a daughter waiting for him at the havens, and without him his people would truly be leaderless. But his love for Tuor had become as great as though he had been his own child, and he was too honorable to abandon the boy he had promised to protect.

With a leaping blow, he slew an Orc that had come at Tuor from behind, crying, "Damn your mannish pride, child!"

They could not keep up such a defense. The axe was heavy. Tuor's arms grew weary and his blows rained down less often. The enemies came at them in great numbers. At long last he was overwhelmed and he and Annael were taken captive. The Easterlings gathered about Tuor and gazed at him long in thought as he struggled with his bonds. They were trying to decide if he was human or not.

"I say he is a Witch," said one. "Look at him! He is tall and bright-eyed like them. Why would he be among them if he was a Man?"

The Easterlings called all Elves Witches. Morgoth had taught them that they were mystical and untrustworthy beings. They were fair but poisoned rivers and crops and sent plagues among their children. The Edain were their obedient slaves and were rewarded very little for their service. The Eldar were greedy and had claimed most of the lands of Beleriand for their own, land that should belong to Men.

"He is no Witch! He is not slender, but hardy and broad, and there is the beginning of a beard upon his chin."

"None of the Witches we have captured are straw-headed," said a third. "But some of our thralls are. We must take our captives to Lorgan."

They brought him into the halls of his father, but they no longer belonged to him. They belonged to the Easterling chieftain Lorgan. Now this Lorgan was held the chieftain of all the Easterlings and claimed to rule Dor-lomin as a fief under Morgoth. He was not tall, but hardy and swarthy with long dark hair that was braided. Its tip ended at his waist. He had a mustache that was well oiled and dark slanted eyes that were cruel. His nails were long and painted with gold, and there were gold bracelets upon his wrists, rings upon his fingers, and a jeweled necklace about his throat. He wore strange armor that was both colorful and grim. It was decorated with gems and bones over which he wore a long luxurious cape that was made from the fur of a spotted cat.

"New prisoners at last," he clapped his hands together, and he spoke in the foreign tongue of the Easterlings. "You bring me only two? And after how many casualties?"

"These were the only ones that would stand and fight," his servants explained. "They fought bravely and fiercely. The others ran like hares. They fear us, the mighty warriors of Rhun. Cowards they are, not worthy even to be slaves. "

"Not worthy to be our slaves, but nonetheless they would have fetched a good price as someone else's! Especially since you told me that they were all Witches. Do you have any idea how much the Orcs in Angband pay for living Witches? Do you!"

"No," his servants became sheepish. "We will send a pursuit to round up the others. However, only one of these is a Witch. The other is one of the Strawheads."

They pushed Tuor forward and then Lorgan was delighted. Surely this must be the missing heir of Dor-lomin. It was well known that Huor was close to the Witches and taller than any man. His son was not yet fully grown and had surpassed his height, and he had the golden hair of the House of Hador, for which the Easterlings named them Straw-heads. When the Easterlings first took control of Dor-lomin, Lorgan had tortured the former lord's servants, demanding to know where the last of the line were hidden, the wives and children. They were not simply being thickheaded when they claimed not to know. However, one old man gave him a clue, saying that Huor's wife had been pregnant and strayed in the direction of Mithrim which was the abode of Witches.

Tuor began to shout, though he was gagged.

"What was that?" Lorgan sneered. "I cannot make out your mumblings!"

He ripped the cloth out of his mouth. The force almost broke Tuor's jaw.

"You are the usurper! You are the cause of my people's suffering! I command you to release me and my people!"

Tuor spoke his father's language, hoping that some of the thralls nearby would hear and rise up. There were enough of his own men in the halls that had been deemed tame enough to walk free, outnumbering Lorgan's guards. If they would only take courage, they could seize their masters' weapons and throw off his yoke themselves here and now.

"You command me?" Lorgan laughed.

"Tuor, say no more!" Annael warned in the Elf-tongue.

One of the Easterlings struck him. He had not let a single sound pass his lips before, but now that he had, they feared that the Witch would cast a spell. They gagged him quickly.

"Release him! It is not him or his folk that you want. I am the one you want! I am Tuor son of Huor, the true lord of Dor-lomin!"

To Tuor's dismay, there was not even a single stir among the thralls. In fact, they seemed to shrink at his announcement rather than becoming emboldened.

"There is no Lord of Dor-lomin! You speak the serf tongue and were caught fleeing as thralls will! As for your pet Witch, him and his folk are not my problem anymore. The Orcs will have him and the rest soon enough. As for you, you are to become my slave. Bow before me!"

"I will not even bend my knees!"

"Thralls are like animals," Lorgan said. "They just need to be broken and trained with proper reward and punishment. Watch!"

He turned to the nearest thrall and commanded him to bow. The once proud man kneeled without hesitation.

"You see how easily your people obey?" Lorgan said. "Do likewise!"

Tuor refused. One of Lorgan's cruel servants elbowed Tuor in the spine so that he almost fell forward, but he regained his balance and ignored the pain. He gave Lorgan a steady eye.

"I expected no less from the son of Huor."

"I will never bow to the likes of you. You are a thrall yourself. You are a slave to Morgoth."

Lorgan motioned to his servants. They seized Tuor and turned him so that his back faced Lorgan. He held a whip in his hand now.

"Some thralls are harder to tame than others. All it takes is time. Fifteen shall do for now."

Tuor was flogged with fifteen lashes as Lorgan looked on with a smile. Annael shut his eyes. Then Tuor was turned to face Lorgan again.

"Bow!"

"You may whip me until death, but I will not bend willingly!" Tuor said stubbornly.

"Very well."

The Easterling drew a knife and clasped Tuor by the hair. He was certain he was about to slit his throat, but instead Lorgan began sawing at his hair.

"You are a boy with an over-swollen head," he said. "A few days of hard labor and a good lashing should serve you well. Very soon you will bow and the only word passing your lips shall be: Yes, Master."

He was cast into a pented area where other slaves were kept, but not Annael. His foster-father was taken from him. His new companions were a miserable lot. Most were half-starved and could not even endure his glance. No one spoke to him, save for a kind young girl.

"At first we thought you were an Elf that had come to deliver us."

"Where did they take Annael?" Tuor asked desperately.

"He was locked away somewhere else, good sir," the girl answered. "I shall wash your wounds. Tomorrow they shall set you to hard labor. It would not do to let open wounds fester in the sun."

She began tending to him. He had not realized before how deep he had been cut. The washbowl was red with blood and his head swam.

"Tell me," he said, remembering his manners. "What is your name?"

"Alanna."

She might have been beautiful if she were not so thin and starved. Her hair was golden and her eyes were blue but watery and dull.

"I see they cut your hair," she said. "What a shame."

"How old are you, Alanna?"

"Fourteen."

"Have you been a thrall all your life?"

"No," she answered. "I remember several years as a child being free. Then the Easterlings came and killed my mother and enslaved my father and I."

"What of the rest of your family?"

"My older brother was set to hard labor. His strength failed him after so much toil. My younger brother was sold to the Orcs. All I have left is my father. If he were to die, no doubt the Easterlings would kill me too."

"How long did your older brother live after they put him to work?"

"Four years."

Tuor's sleep was uneasy, and he awoke with a whip curled about his leg.

"Get up, Straw-head. You've work to do."

"I will not be of much use if I cannot even walk!"

"Did I ask for an opinion?"

"I beg you to be merciful, Masters!" Alanna cried. "He is new and does not understand your ways!"

"Stand aside, wench! Now get up, Straw-head!"

Tuor struggled to his feet. He was not fast enough for them and was stung again by the whip.

"Stop it, please!" Alanna pleaded.

"Enough insolence from you, woman!"

The Easterlings struck her and grabbed her arms. One raised his whip and let it come down on her. Tuor stared in disbelief. He could not believe that they would be cruel enough to use a whip upon a woman. They struck her ten times and she lay limp upon the floor, the back of her dress in tatters and bloody.

"You are more trouble than you are worth, woman," the Easterling growled and spat at her.

"Leave her be!" Tuor bellowed. "You could have killed her!"

"She has learned a valuable lesson. One that you will learn even if it kills the both of you. Come with us, Straw-head!"

They put chains upon his feet and led him forward, stepping over Alanna. Tuor was given some menial task and obeyed. As he worked, a cart passed by filled with bound captives. It was Annael and a dozen of his folk. The Easterlings had managed to capture some of them in the night. The cart was being guided by Orcs. Tuor dropped his tools and ran after them, which was especially difficult with the chains on his feet. His guards pursued him and held him in place as the cart slowly crawled out of sight.

"I will save you!" he called to them. "I will escape and come after you!"

"No!" Annael answered. "Where we go, there is no hope of escape or rescue. Should you find yourself free, do as I first commanded. Run and do not look back! Live!"

The cries of those doomed people rang in his ears, and Annael's last words stayed with him.

Hard and bitter was his life then, for it pleased Lorgan to treat Tuor the more evilly as he was of the kin of the former lords, and he sought to break, if he could, the famous pride of the House of Hador. But Tuor saw wisdom, and endured all pains and taunts with watchful patience so that in time his lot was somewhat lightened, and at the least he was not starved, as were many of Lorgan's unhappy thralls. He was strong and skillful, and Lorgan fed his beasts of burden well while they were young and could work.

Tuor became in all appearances a tame thrall, but his hair grew back longer and thicker than before. His eyes shone with a fierce fire and because of his labor he became strong and grew taller than any of the Easterlings. He did not forget his name either, for he was always called simply Straw-head by the Easterlings, never anything else. Tuor also remembered the name of Gondolin and that of the High King Turgon. Standing amongst the other thralls and his captors, he looked like a golden lion, chained, but never fully subdued.

Even though Lorgan owned him, Tuor rarely saw him over the next few years. Most often he worked the fields with the common slaves. Every day he was assigned some new overseer but there were times that he was allowed to converse with his own folk.

"What has happened to us?" he said. "The Men of Hador were once proud. So far, I have not seen one act of rebellion in any of you. Not one. The only person that has even shown their liege lord the slightest loyalty was Alanna, a young girl! Have the Easterlings completely broken the wills and hearts of everyone here?"

"And what do you know of our sufferings having been raised safe amongst the Elves?" they answered. "Not until now have you even spoken with one of us lowly humans. You speak our tongue, but your accent is strange. We do not deny that your father and those before him were great and noble, but at least they lived among Men. The glory days of the Edain are over and you are nothing more than a slave now like the rest of us. When the Easterlings swooped into our village, only old men and young boys were left to defend it. All of the fit warriors went to the Great Battle and never returned and no Elves came to save us. The men you see about you were born and bred thralls. What did you expect?"

"I expected to find that you were still Men and not cowed dogs. Annael always told me that the Men of Hador were exceptionally brave and resilient. The Easterlings are formidable, but we outnumber them and they depend upon slave labor to feed themselves. If only you would revolt, we could win our home and our lives back! Is it not worth a chance?"

But his words did not move them. They began to resent him, and Tuor began to lose faith in his own race. How could they allow themselves to live on this way? They obeyed the Easterlings without question. They refused to defend their sons and daughters. Men that were younger than Tuor fell beside him, dying of exhaustion. Even worse, the daughters of the Edain were taken as Easterling brides, often by force. The Easterlings had brought few of their women from their own lands, and since women could not work as their men could, the Easterlings saw little other use for them. Some of the Easterlings took up to three girls to wife, and any young woman was fair game to their masters. Soon, there would be no children of Hador left. Their sons would all eventually perish and their daughters would bear only Easterlings.

Tuor told the other thralls about the Hidden Kingdom, hoping to rouse them somehow, but Alanna's father Peleg laughed.

"Your Elf friends could not aid us," he said. "What is Gondolin to us? No one knows if this place you speak of even exists. I suggest you be careful about the stories you tell. If Lorgan heard you speak like that, he will punish you."

"They bled me until I fainted yesterday and they ran me two leagues today. Lorgan always has a good kick ready for me just tor taking in his air. If they were to whip me now, I doubt I would feel any pain. They have killed all the nerves in my back. What could they possibly do to me?" Tuor laughed.

"Look at me. Do I look forty? Nay! I look like I am ninety because of hard labor. They shall work you to death, young fellow. Once you cannot work they shall slaughter you and feed you to their dogs. That is to be my fate."

"Father, do not speak like that!" Alanna scolded. "I for one believe his stories."

Tuor gave her a warm smile and turned away. Then he heard the sound of a horse coming. He did not like the sound of that. It was one of Lorgan's messengers. He halted before Alanna and her father.

"What would you have of us, master?" Alanna asked, trying to smile.

"So, Alanna, you are a child no longer?"

Her eyes widened and her voice trembled, "I am seventeen and no I am not a child but a girl nonetheless."

Peleg frowned and narrowed his eyes, saying, "Why must you oppress my daughter with such questions? None of you have ever paid any attention to her before. Has she done something wrong? She has few tasks but she does them well, and she tries her best to be cheerful about it. If you have come to flog her, I must take the blame for not raising her to respect her masters properly."

"Have you come to kill me?" Alanna squeaked.

"You have already taken my wife and sons!" Peleg cried. "I should not have to lose my daughter as well! That ain't fair!"

"I know that my tailoring has been shoddy lately, but that is only because the cloth as of late has been such poor quality. Perhaps if I worked harder-"

"Calm down, the both of you. You misunderstand," the overseer was uncharacteristically gentle.

"Why then have you come?" Tuor asked.

"Lorgan has need of an heir."

At that announcement, Alanna gasped and tried to hide behind Tuor.

"Do you not have women among you that can produce this heir?" Peleg asked.

"None that is desirable."

"But I am nothing but skin and bones! I am not even fit for childbearing! And besides, I am not worthy of the Great Lorgan. I am not even a child of the former lords, only one of the junior branches of House Hador. There are other women about, older with wider hips and gentler birth. Please let me stay here with my father. Who will take care of him if not me?"

"Never mind your father! From the looks of him, he will not last much longer with or without your help. Your status is nothing. From the moment you become Lorgan's wife, you shall be a thrall no longer. A little food and rest will make you fit to bear many sons."

"I will not be Lorgan's wife or bear his child!"

The messenger seized her and she screamed.

"Wait a few more years," her father pleaded. "She is too young to become a bride."

"We marry as young as twelve here. By seventeen girls like you are happy mothers. So long as the moon courses have come upon the girl that is enough for Lorgan."

"Father!"

"Go with him, Alanna," Tuor said. "You will have a better life."

"Well said, Straw-head!"

"I would rather my daughter be a thrall than the wife of the Easterling that slew her kinsmen!"

"It is not your choice, old man."

"Do not let them take me!" Alanna began to weep.

"I will die before I allow that!"

Tuor leapt upon Peleg and restrained him as the messenger lifted Alanna to his saddle and rode away.

"Do not be a fool," Tuor whispered to him. "Your daughter is one of the fortunate ones. But if you truly wished to save her, you would have to rouse all the thralls. Would you help me to do that?"

"Are you mad!"

"Ha! After all your loud mewling against that Easterling! Your protesting was only a show for the sake of your daughter. I knew it. You are just as faint-hearted as the others!"

"Unhand me! I could tell Lorgan about all your tales and you will die!" Peleg hissed.

Tuor let him up and then shoved him so that he fell right back to the ground again.

"I was not born a thrall and I do not intend to die one!"

The next morning he was fetched by his slave-drivers and taken into the forests to cut firewood. They gave him an axe and then pushed him so that he fell into the wheelbarrow. Then they laughed, but it would be the last laugh they would have at his expense. Tuor turned his back on them and lifted up the axe but did not bring it down. He remained stagnant.

"Start chopping, Straw-head! What are you waiting for?"

He did not move.

"Hey!"

Suddenly Tuor turned on them with the axe and killed them. Then with a mighty blow to his manacles, he cut them and fled into the forest. Lorgan was very wrathful when the news of his escape reached him, and they hunted for him with dogs. But the dogs bolted towards him and fawned upon him and did not attack. Tuor had quickly befriended them during his years among the Easterlings, feeding them what scraps he could, which was often more than their real masters gave them. The Easterlings purposely kept them gnarly and hungry so that they would make fiercer creatures.

"Jasper and Jack! I have a treat for you!" he laughed. "There, now return to your masters. I cannot take you with me."

They would not leave until Tuor grew harsh. Then they whimpered and obeyed. He had escaped thralldom only to become a friendless outlaw.


	8. Messenger and Mariner

For four years, Tuor wandered as an outlaw, dwelling in the caves of Androth alone, slaying any Easterling or Orc he came upon. The Easterlings set a price upon his head but feared those caves where the Elves once dwelt. They came to believe their vengeful ghosts haunted the place now. But Tuor did not desire vengeance. He sought for the Gate of the Noldor.

One day Tuor sat by a stream near the caves and began to strum on his harp. As he sat, the well at his feet began to boil and overflowed. Tuor thought, perhaps childishly, that it was a sign and followed after the rill. He found himself in Ered Lomin and before him was an impossible wall of rock.

"So my hope has cheated me!" he cried. "I am in the midst of the land of my enemies!"

"Enemies? What enemies might that be?" said a voice.

Tuor turned with relief to see two Elves, gray-cloaked and mail clad underneath. They were fairer and more fell than Annael's people. When they saw that he was armed only with a harp they sheathed their swords.

"We are Gelmir and Arminas of Finarfin's people. You must be of the Edain of old of the House of Hador I deem by that golden head of yours."

"I am Tuor son of Huor, but I must abandon the land of my fathers where I am outlawed."

"If you would escape South then you are on the right road," Gelmir said.

"That is what I thought, but I do not know where to turn and all has come to darkness."

"Through darkness one may come to the light," Arminas said, grinning.

"One will walk in the Sun while they may. You are Noldoli?"

"Of Finarfin's people," they nodded.

"Tell me if you can where the Gate of the Noldor lies. I have been searching for it since my foster-father spoke of it."

The Elves burst out laughing.

"So much for the wits of Man!" Gelmir scoffed.

"Your search has ended, my friend," Arminas told him. "We have just passed that Gate. There is stands before you!"

He pointed to the arch into which the water flowed, laughing softly to himself.

"Come now! Through darkness one may come to the light! But we cannot guide you for long. We are returning to our lands with an urgent errand."

"Thank you. The Noldor are courteous folk."

Tuor followed them down the steps and they waded into the water. Arminas splashed Gelmir and spluttered and puffed, pretending that the cold bothered him.

When they came to the foot of the rapids, they stood under a great dome of rock. Beside the falls the Noldoli halted.

"Now we must go our separate ways with all speed. Matters of great peril are moving in Beleriand."

They waded into the water again that almost rose above their waists. Tuor watched them for a moment then called out.

"Great peril? Has then the hour come when Turgon himself shall come forth?"

They halted at that name and turned to him in amazement.

"That is a matter that concerns the Noldor rather than the sons of Man," Gelmir said suspiciously. "What do you know of Turgon?"

"Very little," Tuor admitted. "But I know that my father aided him in his escape and his stronghold is the last hope of the Noldor. I do not know why, but his name stirs something within me and is ever upon my lips."

Arminas and Gelmir's eyes grew hard upon him.

"If I had my will, I would seek the Gate of Gondolin rather than tread these dark ways unless there is no other way to his dwelling?"

"Who shall say?" Gelmir answered. "If his stronghold is hidden so also are the ways thither. I myself do not know them though I have searched for them for almost a century. If I knew them, I would not tell you or any Man!"

"Gelmir!" Arminas hissed. "You must forgive him, Tuor. We can help you no more, but do not say that our meeting was by chance! I know that you shall find whatever it is you seek. There is a doom written upon your brow. The favor of Ulmo is on your House."

Arminas patted him on the shoulder.

"Do you have any other insolent questions?"

Arminas threw Gelmir a dark look and then smiled at Tuor, "Of course, you know too much already. You know who we are and you know the name of Turgon. We cannot allow you to leave this place."

Tuor laughed, knowing he was not serious and said, "May you be given the speed of eagles."

"Anar Kaluva tielyanna, mellon!" Arminas bowed low. The saying was actually, The sun shall shine upon your path, friend.

"Namarie," Gelmir said curtly in farewell.

With that they turned and went up the long stairs. Tuor was alone again and friendless.

Tuor journeyed to the coast, always aroused by the rush of wings. Tour felt his feet drawn to the sea-strand. It is said that he was the first of Men to reach the great sea, and none save the Elves have felt more deeply the longing that it brings. He stood gazing upon the waves until it grew cold. The sun sank low into a black cloud and there was a stirring and murmur of a storm to come.

Suddenly, a great wave rose far off and rolled towards the shore, and about it was a mist of foam and shadow. It curled and broke and there stood a living shape of great height and majesty.

Tuor was no craven, but he fell before this creature. If his legs were willing, he would have fled. He looked upon it and a name passed his lips.

"Ulmo!"

He knew that it was Ulmo Lord of Waters, the Vala of the sea. He wore a crown like silver, his hair fell as foam, and beneath his gray mantle he was clad in mail as that of a mighty fish. He did not step onto the shore but stood knee-deep in the waters.

"Arise, Tuor son of Huor!" he said, and his voice was deeper than the foundations of the world. "Fear me not, though long have I called to you and remained unanswered. In the Spring you should have stood here, but now a fell winter comes from the land of the Enemy. Haste you must learn and the pleasant road I designed for you may be changed. My counsels have been scorned and already a host of foes has come between you and your goal."

"What is my goal, Lord?" Tuor asked.

"That which your heart has ever desired: To find Turgon and to look upon the Hidden City. Now array yourself in the arms which long ago I decreed for you so that they shall look upon you and know you. You shall be my messenger!"

There came another great wave, and there was cast at his feet a hauberk, a helm, a shield, and a long sword in a sheath. The hauberk was silver and the shield was long and tapering. Its field was blue with the emblem of a white swan's wing. Then Ulmo cast his own cloak before Tuor.

"You shall walk under my shadow, but tarry no more. Will you take up my errand?"

"I will, Lord," Tuor answered, though he did not see how he could have possibly refused.

"Then I will set words in your mouth to say to Turgon. But first I will teach you and some things you shall hear that not even the mighty among the Eldar have heard."

He spoke to Tuor of Valinor, the Exile of the Noldor and the Doom of Mandos and the Blessed Realm. Tuor was amazed.

"But in the armor of Fate there is ever a rift until the full making which you might call the End. So it shall be as long as I endure, and Doom is strong and I am diminished; a whisper, a passing thing. The Curse of Mandos is hastening to its finish, and all the Noldor shall perish. The waters wither and are poisoned and my power withdraws. All of their hopes shall crumble and the last hope lies in you, for so I have chosen."

"Then Turgon shall not stand against Morgoth?"

"Melkor is more than his match."

"What would you have me do?" Tuor bellowed, for if he did not shout, his voice would have been lost upon the wind and each time he opened his mouth he swallowed rain and sea water. "Though I am willing to do as my father and stand by that king in his need, of little avail shall I be, an escaped thrall and alone among so many of the valiant High Folk of the West."

"If I choose to send you than do not believe that your one sword is not worth the sending. The valor of the Edain the Eldar shall never forget. They marvel that they gave life so freely of which they had on earth so little. It is not for valor that I send you, but to bring into the world a hope beyond your sight and a light that shall pierce the darkness."

Tuor still did not understand the Vala's words, and they brought no comfort to him. He did not answer, and when the mutter of the storm rose to a great cry he covered his ears. The wind mounted and his mantle streamed like a cloud behind him.

"Go now," Ulmo said. "Go before the Sea devours you! Ossë obeys the will of Mandos."

Tuor found it interesting that Ossë the Maia would do such a thing. It was known that Ossë was Ulmo's banner man. It seemed that the politics of Valinor were bizarre indeed.

"As you command, Lord. But if I escape Mandos, what shall I say to Turgon?"

"If you come to him than your mouth shall speak as I would. Speak and fear not! Thereafter do as your heart and valor lead you. Hold to my mantle and I shall send one to you out of the wrath of Ossë and he shall be your guide: The last mariner of the last ship that shall seek into the West. Go now to the land!"

And Tuor cried against the wind, "I go, Lord, but now my heart yearns rather for the Sea."

Tuor fled from the fury of the sea and came to the high terraces. The wind drove him against the cliff and when he came to the top he bent and panted and entered the empty halls of Nevrast. He fell asleep to the sound of waves of water crashing against the walls.

Tuor arose in the morning and saw the waves had ridden upon the land. Tuor looked down from the terraces to the doors and saw leaning against its wall among the stones and sea-wrack an Elf clad in a gray cloak sodden with the sea. He sat silently, gazing beyond the ruin of the beaches at the long ridges of waves. The last stars were fading in the West, and it was a cold gray morning with no sound but the sea.

Tuor remembered the words of Ulmo and a name untaught came to his lips. He called to the silent figure.

"Welcome, Voronwë! I await you!"

The Elf turned and looked up and met Tuor's glance. His eyes were a piercing sea-gray and Tuor knew beyond doubt by those eyes that he was one of the Noldor. But fear and wonder grew in the Elf's gaze at the sight of Tuor in his great cloak under which elven-mail gleamed. They stood searching the face of the other and then the Elf stood up and bowed low.

"Who are you, Lord?" he asked. "Long have I labored in the unrelenting sea. Tell me: Have great tidings befallen since I walked this land? Is the Shadow overthrown? Have the Hidden People come forth?"

"No," Tuor answered. "The Shadow grows and the Hidden remain hid."

Voronwë paused and asked again, "But who are you? Many years ago my people left this land and none dwelt here since. Despite your raiment you are not one of my people as I first thought, but are of the kindred of Man."

"I am," Tuor said. "And are you the last mariner of the last ship that sought the West from the Haven of Cirdan?"

"I am. Voronwë son of Aranwë, but how you guessed my name or business I do not understand."

"I know because the Lord of Waters spoke to me yesterday and said that he would save you from Ossë and send you here to be my guide."

"You have spoken to Ulmo the Vala!" Voronwë cried. "Great indeed must be your worth! But where shall I guide you, my lord? You must be a King of Men and many wait upon your word."

"No, I am an escaped thrall and an outlaw. There are none to wait upon my command. My people have been enslaved by the cruel Easterlings. But I have an errand to Turgon. Do you know by what road I may find him?"

"Many are outlaw and thrall in these evil days that were not born so. I deem that you are a lord of Men by right, yet even if you were the highest of all your folk, no right have you to seek Turgon. If I believed that you were truly sent by Ulmo and I lead you to the Gates of Gondolin, it would all be in vain. You could not enter in."

"I do not ask you to lead me further than the gate," Tuor said. "There Doom shall strive with the Counsel of Ulmo. As for my right to seek Turgon, I am Tuor son of Huor and nephew of Húrin. Those names Turgon shall never forget and am commanded by Ulmo. Will Turgon forget the words spoke long ago: Remember that the last hope of the Noldor comes from the Sea? When peril is near one shall come from Nevrast to warn you?"

Tuor was amazed again, for the words rolled off his tongue at their own accord. These words were known only to the Golodrim. Voronwë was even more astonished and he looked to the Sea and heaved a sigh.

"I wish never again to return to Gondolin," he said. "I have vowed that if I ever set foot on land again, I would dwell at rest far from the Shadow or by the Havens or maybe in the fields of Nan-tathren where the spring is sweeter than heart's desire. But if what you say is true, then I must go to my people. I will lead you to the Hidden Gates for the wise will not gainsay the counsels of Ulmo."

"Then we shall go together, but mourn not, Voronwë. Far from the Shadow your long road shall lead you and your hope shall return to the Sea."

"And yours also," Voronwë replied. "But now we must leave it and go in haste."

Tuor smiled and was about to give his thanks, but Voronwë sped away. It was difficult to keep to his tireless pace.

"Where shall you lead me and how far? What of the coming winter?"

Voronwë refused to be lucid and said only, "You know the strength of Men. As for me, I am of the Noldor and long must be the hunger and bitter the cold to slay one of those that crossed the Grinding Ice. I have a store of way bread and if you desire something with more protein, you may doubtless as an outlaw and hunter find it soon enough."

"Maybe," Tuor said. "But hunters tarry on the road."

After some time the travelers decided to rest. Voronwë might have continued on, but Tuor needed to rest. They sat wrapped in their cloaks and spoke much together. Voronwë was very curious about him, and so Tuor told him everything. His fostering by the Elves of Mithrim, the long years spent in hiding in the Caves of Androth, his years in slavery, his escape, and his years spent searching for the Gate of the Noldor. When he mentioned Arminas and Gelmir, Voronwë laughed.

"Those two are known to me," he explained, "Though if you were to ask others of them, they would not know who you were talking about. They are Noldoli, but they have traveled further than even the most footsore messenger. I suppose the best way to describe them would be to call them wayward adventurers and explorers. You will find one in Nargothrond and the other in Doriath, but they are most often together upon the road. They are never at rest. Perhaps they think if they searched throughout Beleriand, they could discover Gondolin too and then they could say they have dwelt in all Three Hidden Kingdoms. They will tell you if you ask them that they do Círdan's work, whatever that is. Círdan is not a king or lord, only a mariner, and yet it seems to me that he has secret dealings with Ulmo perhaps, or the other Valar, and he sets great events in motion behind the scenes. They might not have been able to lead you to Gondolin, but I have a feeling that those two know much more than they let on."

"I sensed as much. Arminas seemed like he was willing to tell me something, but Gelmir would never let him."

Tuor questioned him about the road, but Voronwë was silent and would not speak of it. Tuor did not press the matter. Voronwë spoke more about the Havens and the land of reeds near the Mouths of Sirion.

"There the numbers of the Eldar increase. Many flee there in fear of Morgoth and are weary of war. But I did not leave my people by choice. Turgon sent out a few of his people to the Mouths of Sirion. There they built many ships, but when Turgon learned of the sacking of the Havens that lie away before us by the Enemy, he sent out new messengers. That was but a little while ago, yet it seems in memory the longest portion of my life. I was one of those few that he sent, being young among my kin. I was born here on the rich soil of Middle-Earth in Nevrast over two hundred years ago. My mother was akin to Cirdan himself- there was much mingling of the people then-and I therefore have inherited the sea-heart of my people. My father was Aranwë of the House of Fingolfin.

"Our errand was to Cirdan to seek his aid in ship-building so that some message or prayer for aid may come to the Lords of the West before all is lost. I tarried in Nan-tathren, for lovely to heart's enchantment is that land, Tuor. There is the cure for sea-longing, save for those that Doom will not relinquish. There I might still dwell if Doom would only let me be, or Ulmo maybe. I built a raft of will-boughs and floated upon the bosom of the river Sirion and I was taken. A sudden wind bore me away down to Sea. I came last of the messengers to Círdan and of the seven ships that he crafted for Turgon all but one was full-wrought. And one by one they set sail into the West and none have returned and no news of them has been heard.

"The salt air stirred the heart of my mother's kin so when the last ship was ready, I was eager to be gone. I thought if the words of the Noldor are true, in the West there is beauty beyond compare nor is there withering nor end to spring nor Shadow. But the Great Sea is terrible, Tuor, and does not love the Noldor. It may cause worse than sinking into the great abyss of water and so perishing. There is loathing, loneliness, madness, terror of wind and tumult, silence, and shadows where all hope is lost and all living shapes pass away. Many shores evil and strange it washed and islands of danger and fear infest it. I will not tell you of the seven years I spent at Sea. For in despair we fled from the doom that had so long spared us only to strike out from a place of strength and cruelty.

"As we espied the mountains of Taras the wind awoke and clouds of thunder came from the West that is shut against us. The waves hunted us like living beasts intent upon some malicious purpose. But I was spared, for a wave, greater and yet calmer than all the others lifted me up from the ship away and rolled to land. It cast me upon the turf and drained away, pouring over the cliff in a great waterfall. I cannot explain what happened.

"I had been there night an hour when you came upon me dazed by the Sea. Still I fear it and feel the bitter loss of my friends that had been with me so long and far beyond sight of mortal lands. But bright were the stars and at times the clouds of the West were penetrated. Whether we saw only remote clouds or glimpsed the mountains of Pelori, I do not know. Far, far away they stand and none shall come there ever again, I deem."

Then Voronwë sighed and Tuor again pressed the matter of the road, but the Elf was silent, for night had come and the stars shone white and cold.

Voronwë roused Tuor soon after and set out upon their long journey. None saw them, for the shadow of Ulmo was upon them. Voronwë chose their path and Tuor followed, asking no vain questions but noted they went eastward and never south. He became puzzled, for he believed the rumors that Gondolin was hid far from the battles of the North.

At the end of an arduous night, they halted in Narog. Voronwë looked about in grief and dismay. Where once the fair pools of Ivrin had lain with trees they saw a land burnt and desolate. The trees were uprooted, the stone marges of the pool were broken so that the waters were gone. A reek of decay rose like a foul mist.

"Alas! Has the evil come even here?" the Elf cried. "Far from the threat of Angband, yet Morgoth gropes ever further."

"It is as Ulmo said," Tuor said softly, understanding at last some of what was spoken to him. "The springs are poisoned and my power withdraws from the waters of the land."

Tuor and Voronwë could not bear to remain near the ruin of Ivrin and sought a hiding place. They did not get much sleep, and the night brought only grinding frost. The Fell Winter had begun so the companions were tormented constantly by the snows. For nine days they endured slowly and painfully. They came to the stream of Malduin and discovered it had been frozen black.

It was long since the wanderers found any food in the wild and the way bread was not going to last much longer. They needed it now more than ever, for they were always cold and weary. The bite of the Fell Winter was beginning to tell even on Voronwë, one of the Noldor.

One day they awoke to find themselves covered in snow. Tuor shook himself of the evil ice powder and threw snowballs at Voronwë to rouse him.

"Death is near to me if not to you," he said angrily.

"It is ill to be trapped between the Doom of the Valar and the malice of the Enemy," Voronwë answered, still buried in snow. "Have I escaped the jaws of the Sea only to lie under the snow?"

"How far is Gondolin?" Tuor asked. "You must forgo your secrecy with me. Are we going straight and where? If I must spend my last strength, I would know to what avail it would be."

"I have led you as straight as I safely could," Voronwë said after a long pause of thought and he rose out of the snow. "Turgon dwells in the North, though it is believed by few. We are near his city now, but we still have many leagues to go."

"I thought myself the hardiest of Men once, and I have endured many winters' woe in the mountains, but I had a cave at my back and fire then. I doubt my strength to go much further. Let us go as far as we may before hope fails."

"We have no other choice," Voronwë replied, "unless it were to lie down here and seek the snow sleep."

They toiled on, thinking that they would rather face the servants of the Enemy than the fell winter. As they went they found less snow, and suddenly they were aware of voices. A company of Orcs were encamped in the midst of the road, huddled about a wood fire.

"Now the sword shall come from under the cloak," Tuor muttered. "I will risk death for that fire and even the meat of the Orcs would be a prize."

"No!" Voronwë said. "Only the cloak shall serve. This band is not alone. I can see the flames of other posts. You might bring a whole host upon us!"

Tuor ascended to his feet and Voronwë sprang up and tackled him. He was much stronger than he looked and Tuor was completely caught off guard.

"Hearken to me, Tuor!" the Elf said harshly. "It is against the law of the Hidden Kingdom for any to approach the Gates with foes at their heels. I shall not break it neither for Ulmo nor for death. Rouse those Orcs and I leave you!"

"Then let them be," Tuor answered, brushing him aside.

"Follow me."

He crept away and then stood a while listening intently.

"I hear nothing moving on the road, but I do not know what could be waiting for us in the shadows."

"I have strength left only for the shortest road," Tuor said breathlessly. "You and I must trust to the mantle that Ulmo gave to me. Now, for once, I will lead!"

He seized Voronwë and stole to the border of the road. The Elf argued relentlessly until Tuor clasped him close and cast the mantle over them. Then suddenly the wind paused and a cry rose up. A horn was winded and there was running feet. They had been scented and the hunt was on.

"You have roused them!" came Voronwë's muffled voice.

"We have not been spotted yet!" Tuor replied.

Desperately he stumbled and crept up a slope and into a bracket with Voronwë at his side. They spoke no word and panted like tired beasts. Tuor drew Voronwë close as the cries of their hunters grew faint and he slept. Voronwë climbed out from under his arm and watched over him until there was no trace of the Enemy. Then he led Tuor on, still angry.

"That was a near miss," he said. "Without the mantle of Ulmo, we would have been found!"

"At least then I might have grappled for a fire."

Voronwë was about to argue more and suddenly laughed, "Well it is a good thing that you did not!" he pointed to the North. "For there is the Echoriath and the Eagles guard the air above us. At our feet is the road."

The road went up an inclination and Tuor stumbled many times on stones until he almost lost his temper.

"If this is a road, it is an evil one for the weary!"

"It is the road to Turgon."

"Then I am even more amazed. It lies open to anyone! I expected a great gate and guard!"

"That you have still to see," Voronwë corrected. "This is but an approach. I said road, but none have passed it for more than three hundred years. Would you have known it was the way to Turgon if you did not have me as your guide? You would have passed it by, and it is not unwatched. Thorondor keeps constant vigil to it. If we were Orcs, we would have been scooped up by his folk and cast down upon the rocks."

"Will no news reach Turgon of our 'approach' sooner than us? If that is good or bad, you alone can say."

"Neither will it be good or bad," Voronwë said. "We are not Orcs, but we shall need a better plea than that to convince the Guard to let us pass. Then we shall see the power of Ulmo. It is in that hope that I agreed to socour you, and if it fails then surely we die more than by all the perils of the wild and winter."

"Death in the wild is certain for us and death at the Gate is still in doubt. Lead me on still!"

He led him to a shallow cave and there they ate the last crumbs of food and wrapped themselves in their cloaks and still could not sleep. Then they crept back into the Dry River and crawled under brambles and came to the feet of a cliff and entered into the opening. There was no light, but Voronwë knew the way. Tuor put his hand upon his shoulder, bending a little. The roof was low and uneven. They went on little by little and then Voronwë halted in his tracks and listened. Not even a drip of water could be heard.

"Where is the Guarded Gate?" Tuor whispered. "Have we passed it already?"

"No, but it is strange that we have come so far unchallenged. I fear some stroke in the dark."

But even though they whispered, their voices echoed in the great space and as they died, Tuor heard a voice speak through the darkness first in the High Speech and then in Sindarin.

"Do not move!" it said. "Or you will die be you friend or foe!"

"We are friends," Voronwë answered.

"Then do as we tell you."

Their voices echoed and then were silent. The companions were still and Tuor was more afraid of the unending silence than anything he had faced on the road. Voronwë was not breathing.

At last there came the tramp of feet and a brilliant star pierced the darkness and Tuor knew it was only the beam of an elven-light. He was in a paralysis of fear while the light held him.

After a moment, the voice spoke again, "Show your faces!"

Voronwë cast back his hood and his face shone in the ray of light as if graven in stone and revealed his beauty.

"Do you not know who you see?" he said proudly. "I am Voronwë son of Aranwë of the House of Fingolfin, or have I been forgotten in my own land after so few years? I have wandered far beyond Middle-Earth and faced the perils of the Sea, yet I recognize your voice, Elemmakil."

"Then you will also remember the law of your land," said the voice. "Since you departed it by command you have the right to return, but not to lead with you any stranger. By that deed your right is stripped from you and you are to be led as a prisoner to the king's judgment. As for the stranger, he shall be slain or held captive by the judgment of the Guard. Lead him here!"

Voronwë led Tuor to the light and many Noldoli stepped out of the darkness and surrounded them with drawn swords. Elemmakil looked at them with a look that was both intent and wistful.

"This is strange of you, Voronwë," he said, shaking his head. "We are old friends. Why then would you be so cruel as to set before me this choice between the law and our friendship! If you had led any other of the other houses of the Noldor, that would be enough, but you have brought a mortal- one of alien kin- instead! He may never go free knowing our secrets. I should slay him even though he may be your friend and dear to you."

"Dear?" Voronwë mused. "I should think not. He is rather boorish and has only complained upon the road…"

He teased a smile from Tuor, despite their predicament. Elemmakil and the others were not amused in the slightest.

"But in the wide lands many strange things may befall you and you may be given tasks unlooked for," Voronwë became grave again. "What I have done, I have done under command greater than the laws of the Guard. The King alone should judge me and him that comes with me."

Then Tuor's fear vanished and he spoke up at last, "I come with this Elf because he was appointed to be my guide by the Lord of Waters. I bear from Ulmo an errand to the son of Fingolfin and to him alone will I speak it."

Elemmakil was, of course, astonished and asked, "Who then are you? From where did you spring?"

"I am Tuor son of Huor of the House of Hador and kindred of Húrin. These names are not unknown in the Hidden Kingdom. From Nevrast I have come through many perils to seek it."

"From Nevrast? It is said that none dwell there since our people departed."

"It is so yet I came from there. Bring me now to Turgon."

"In matters so great I cannot judge," Elemmakil admitted. "I will lead you to the light where more will be revealed and I will deliver you to the Warden of the Great Gate."

Therefore he led them through the ancient six gates to the seventh and newest gate, called the great, the Gate of Steel that Maeglin wrought after his return from the Nirnaeth. No wall stood there but two towers of great height, seven stories. Between them was a fence of steel that would not rust but glittered cold and white. There were seven pillars of tall steel ending in spikes with cross-bars of steel between. In the center was an image of the helm of Turgon set about with diamonds.

Elemmakil struck upon a bar and the fence rang. Riders answered from the tower and strode toward them. At their head was Ecthelion, Lord of the Fountains and Warden of the Great Gate. He was clad in silver and was one of the highest and noblest lords of Gondolin.

Elemmakil saluted and said, "I have brought Voronwë Aranwion returning from Balar. Here is a stranger that he has led here and he demands to see the king."

Ecthelion turned to Tuor and drew his cloak about him and stood silent. Voronwë glanced at Tuor, for it seemed his stature increased so that the peak of his hood towered over that of the helm of the Elf-lord. After a long silence Ecthelion spoke very gravely.

"You have come to the Last Gate. No stranger who passes it shall ever go out again save by the door of death."

"If the messenger of the Lord of Waters go by that door," Tuor answered, "then all those that dwell here shall follow. Lord of the Fountains, do not hinder the messenger of the Lord of Waters!"

All those that stood there marveled at Tuor and the words of his voice. Voronwë heard a great voice emanating through him as though from far off and Tuor felt that he was only listening to someone else speaking. Slowly awe filled Ecthelion's face and went to the fence and laid his hands upon it. The gates opened inward and Tuor passed through.

Upon either hand stood a host of Gondolin. All the seven kinds of the Seven Gates were represented. Tuor's cloak fell away so that they all could see the hauberk and shield and sword that they had all seen as Turgon set them upon the walls of Nevrast years ago.

Ecthelion said, "Now no further proof is needed. Even the name he claims as son of Huor matters less than the truth: That he comes from Ulmo himself."

Then Ecthelion gave orders for the sounding of the signal and trumpets were blown on the towers of the Great Gate that echoed in the hills. Then came an answer from the trumpets of the city walls. Ecthelion dismounted his gray horse and offered it to Tuor and Elemmakil brought another for his friend Voronwë. The guard surrendered his horse to his superior Ecthelion.

"I understand that you wished to see the king," the Lord of Fountains said. "Now you shall have your desire. Thus far Voronwë has been your guide. Now I shall lead you to the throne as your guide, if you will have me."

"Lead me on!" Tuor answered.

Then they rode to Gondolin.


	9. Tuor Arrives

The streets of that city were paved with stone curbed with marble and fair houses and courts amid gardens of bright flowers. There were towers slender and beautiful that rose to heaven and carved of white marble. Squares were lit with fountains and there were many aged trees where birds flitted about.

The greatest of the fountains was that which stood before the king's palace. The tower was the loftiest and the fountains shot twenty seven fathoms into the air and fell in a singing rain of crystal. On either side of the doors were two trees, one of gold and the other silver, images of the Trees of Old. Their names were Glingal and Belthil.

As Tuor stood before the fountains, the Royal Family stood upon one of the great balconies. A swift messenger had been sent to alert them that someone of great import was on their way for an audience. This was their first glance of the man making such a fuss in Gondolin. Turgon, Maeglin, and Idril stood together and gazed down as Tuor and Ecthelion made their approach.

"He wears the armor of Nevrast," Idril said. "That can only mean one thing, father. He is Ulmo's Messenger. I fear for Gondolin and her people."

"Oh, Lady," Maeglin placed his hand over hers, "Do not be troubled. The armor proves nothing. We must never be so quick to assume that. He may have stumbled into Nevrast and taken the armor by chance. Or he could have even stolen the armor from the real messenger."

"I doubt that," Idril said, pulling her hand away.

Turgon laughed, "That indeed would have been Ulmo's mistake if he sent out such a poor messenger that would have the indecency to die upon the road and his corpse robbed. I have no doubt this is the long awaited messenger, but who is he?"

Tuor stopped before the great fountain, admiring the beauty of it. Ecthelion told him that it was custom to drink of the waters and ask for Ulmo's blessing before entering the king's tower. Tuor removed his helm and filled it with water from the fountain's pool and drank. He was terribly thirsty from his long journey. He had never tasted such sweet water. Then he filled the helm to the brim and poured the waters over his head. At once he felt refreshed in body and spirit.

Idril watched his movements very carefully, as did Turgon and Maeglin. As soon as he removed his helm, Maeglin, with his sharp eyes, realized what he was. He gave out an outraged cry.

"A Man!" he said the word as though it was a curse. "There must be some sort of mistake. Why would Ulmo send us a human? It cannot be so!"

"Ulmo does not make decisions without careful thought and with purpose," Turgon replied. "If his messenger is human, then I would call that strange, but not unlike Ulmo. He loves the Second born and the First born alike."

"He is tall with golden hair," Idril said with a smile upon her face. Though her eyes were not as far sighted as Maeglin's, she could make out most of Tuor's features. "He bears the resemblance of the House of Hador. They have always been friends to both the Eldar and to Ulmo. He is taller than even Ecthelion! He might be the tallest person I have ever seen."

"He will be here soon. Let us be ready."

Turgon left the balcony. Maeglin turned to follow him and realized Idril had not yet moved. She continued to watch Tuor, forgetting everything else in that moment. He looked familiar to her. Maeglin waited a moment for her to remember herself, but he grew impatient and could not understand why she would look so long at a man. He began to feel annoyed and angry but did not quite know why, not yet. He placed a hand on her shoulder, startling her.

"Dear, Idril," he said, "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing. Forgive me, I will be right there."

To his surprise, she was blushing. He found that very odd. He had never seen her cheeks color before, and of course, it made her look beautiful. He left the balcony but glanced back to make certain she was on her way. She gave Tuor one last look and followed after Maeglin. She was anxious to see the Messenger of Ulmo much closer.

At last Tuor stood before Turgon son of Fingolfin and High King of the Noldor. Upon his right was Maeglin his sister son and on his left was his daughter Idril Celebrindal. Turgon appeared as the tallest child of Iluvatar, save Thingol, and he was robed in white with a belt of gold and a sword in an ivory sheath.

"Welcome, Man of the Land of Shadows," he said in greeting. "Your coming was set in our books of wisdom and it has been written that there would come many great tidings in the homes of the Golodrim when you were to fare here."

Ulmo once again set power in Tuor's heart and majesty in his voice. "I am bidden, father of the City of Stone, by him that makes deep music in the Abyss, and knows the mind of Elves and Men, to say to you that the days of Release draw near. There have come whispers to the ears of Ulmo of your city upon your hill against Morgoth and he is glad, but his heart is wroth and the Valar are angered seeing the sorrow of the thralldom of the Noldor and Men. Therefore, I have been brought by a secret way to bid you number your hosts and prepare for battle or gather your people and flee down Sirion to the Sea, for the time is ripe."

Then suddenly the mantle of Ulmo that Tuor had carried so long and so far vanished.

All those in the hall were astonished. They then doubted that Tuor was only human, and there was pandemonium. Turgon quieted the council and the small folk and turned to Tuor.

"I must ponder this message, son of Huor. I have received this warning before and I do not desire to imperil my people. Dwell here for a while. As for Voronwë, you must come with me. You may make sense of this man's story and you have news of Círdan for me?"

"Aye, my lord."

Then the king departed with his counselors following. Among those was Maeglin, who cast Tuor a dubious glance. Then Idril stepped before Tuor and he was stricken dumb. Ulmo could not speak for him now. Tuor had seen few women, for Annael had sent the women and children of his folk away long before with the exception of his daughter. Then Tuor had known the women of the Easterlings, and they only gave him abuse and were brought up as warriors and were mostly unfeminine. As for Alanna and the other thralls among his own race, he had felt only pity for them.

Idril was no half-starved woman as Alanna had been or a cruel Easterling. She was one of the fairest of the world at that time, surpassed only by Lúthien. She was daughter of kings that held herself with the poise and grace of a queen. Tour could only smile as he admired her beauty, and she returned the smile.

"My father is not taking these matters lightly," she said. "You must pardon him. He was so troubled about the counsel of Ulmo that he did not stop to think of the well-being of his guest! But do not fear. I have taken heed to it, and you shall be fed and led to a chamber to rest. I shall see to that myself! The messenger of Ulmo deserves no less."

Tuor could not refuse. She led him to a room within the palace, little more than a temporary guest room. There was a bed, a small window overlooking the pillared arcade, and a couch. It was dark and a little chilled, but Idril ordered a chambermaid to fetch refreshment and lamps. Idril herself stooped and set to work upon making the fire. She bid Tuor to sit and he complied, but he felt uncomfortable merely watching as the daughter of Turgon played chambermaid for him. It felt wrong. He rose and stooped beside her to aid any way that he could.

"My lord," Idril placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder and looked him in the eye. "You have had a long and hard journey. Waste no more of your energy. It is true that I do not make a custom of caring for every vagabond that enters Gondolin, but I am honored to serve you as befits the Messenger of Ulmo. Furthermore, I do not rely upon servants to wait upon me hand and foot. I can make a fire. Now please sit and accept Turgon's hospitality extended by his flesh and blood. Should you have need of anything, my lord, do not hesitate to let me know."

"Thank you for your kindness…my lady, er your majesty, I mean…Princess." Tuor struggled to name her proper title.

She laughed as his face quickly turned scarlet, "Princess. Now that is a word rarely used in the Elf-Kingdoms. Most refer to me simply as the White Lady."

"Why is that?" Tuor was confused. "You are the direct heir and Turgon introduced his nephew as a prince."

She frowned at the mere mention of her kinsman, "I do not rightly understand it myself. The title Prince or King is used loudly and often here, but the daughters and sisters of such kings are simply referred to as, 'Lady'. In Doriath it is perhaps different. Queen Melian rules with equal if not greater power than King Thingol and their daughter Lúthien had no male rivals. In Nargothrond there was never a Queen and no heirs for many years. There has never been a Queen in Gondolin either and my claim to the throne is not set in stone."

"What then should I call you?"

"I am Idril Celebrindal," she smiled as she introduced herself to him.

She realized that her arm was still upon him and took it away; almost as though she had been unaware she had touched him at all. She turned to the fire again so that he could not see her blushing furiously. She managed to get a small blaze going and began to nurse it into a proper flame.

"Why is there no Queen in Gondolin and yet there are heirs?" Tuor ventured to ask. "You and your cousin Maeglin could not have sprung from the ground. Whatever happened to both your mothers?"

Idril stared intently at the flames and stoked them as she explained, "My father wed one of the Vanyar before the Noldor were exiled. Her name was Elenwë, and she was one of the few among her tribe to join the Noldor when we abandoned Valinor, following after Fëanor and his folk. I was born upon the journey, just before the Crossing of the Grinding Ice. I was born outside of Valinor, so I am not considered one of the Vanyar like her, nor was I born in Middle-Earth, but I was born somewhere in-between and during the exodus of the Noldor, so I am counted among them. My father and I would complete the crossing, but my mother never stepped foot in Gondolin or even within Nevrast, our first dwelling in Beleriand. My mother was swallowed up by the ice moments after handing me to my aunt and the mother of my cousin Maeglin, Aredhel Ar-Fenial. My mother was lost and for a little while my aunt feared that my father would follow. He told her that Elenwë was of the Vanyar in truth and belonged in Valinor with the Ainur and her kin. That was why she was taken before she had tainted herself with Exile by stepping foot upon the Eastern shore of Beleriand. King Finrod of Nargothrond had also had a lover among the Vanyar he intended to make his Queen, but she had refused to leave and she had lived.

"Somehow, though, my father pressed on. I suspect it had more to do with my aunt than anything else as well as my uncle Fingon. They urged him on and Aredhel kept me safe and warm among her furs. She passed me along to mothers that had lost their babes for suckling. No other infants survived that Crossing. Even older children and adults froze, drowned, or perished beneath waves of falling rocks, ice, and snow. Finally we arrived in Beleriand and took up residence along the coast in the caves of Nevrast. My earliest memories are the sound of the waves of the sea crashing against the cliffs there and the singing of the gulls. For seventy-six years we dwelt there until Ulmo led the king to the plain of Tumladin and bid that he build a city there which would become Gondolin. My father never remarried and saw no need for an heir then. Perhaps he felt he had done enough evil by Elenwë and understood the plight of Miriel the Second Wife and did not desire another divide in the Noldoli Royal Family. Perhaps that part of his heart froze solid upon the Grinding Ice. I know nothing for certain. I can read many hearts, but not the king's."

"What became of Turgon's sister Aredhel?"

"We would come to lose her as well and gained instead a cousin in Prince Maeglin. I do not wish to discuss that matter now though. In a way, it was more a tragic loss to me than losing my mother."

Tuor noted that Idril had spoken of her mother with little emotion at all. When she spoke of her father, it was with great respect. When she spoke of Aredhel, it was with affection and a touch of pain. When she mentioned Maeglin, she seemed bitter or angry.

"I had a family amongst the folk of Mithrim ere Ulmo's call came upon me and doom for them," Tuor could empathize. "Perhaps I shall search for what is left of them once my purpose is revealed here. After all, I have delivered my message and what comes after is in the hands of King Turgon."

"The folk of Mithrim fostered you? That means that you never knew your mother or your father. It is a shame. You look much like your father."

"You knew him?"

She nodded, "All of the Golodrim knew him and his brother, though they were not in Gondolin long. When I first saw you, I knew you looked familiar. Once you stood before my father and the rest of us, I realized then for a certainty that you must be Huor's son and that was how I thought I knew you. Both the young lords of Hador left quite an impression upon my father and upon me."

"Please," Tuor said, "Tell me all you can of my father."

"He was granted brief sanctuary here, Huor and his brother Húrin. I did not have many dealings with them myself, but my father did. They received a lot of attention in general in the city because of their race, of course, but also because of their golden heads and the fact that they were as tall as or taller than most Elves. My father noted that they both had enormous courage and their own men seemed to love them fiercely. They swore to protect Gondolin's secrets. As far as we know, they took those secrets with them to the grave. There was an incident though. Húrin and Huor demanded more aid for the kingdoms of Men. If Húrin had his way, Turgon himself would have marched forth with every able bodied soldier in Gondolin. My father became angry and considered keeping them prisoner, but Huor spoke with both his brother and the king separately and then together. He managed to cool their tempers, negotiated their departure, and even convinced my father to send some aid with them. I do now know what was said. It must have been nothing short of a miracle. After that, Huor was elevated to the highest status in Turgon's eyes. He grew fond of Húrin too, but he said that Huor was the better man. Despite being the elder, Húrin was too proud at times and was born to lead upon his own advice. Huor listened to the counsel of others, judged what was best carefully, and spoke softly.

"As for me, I only spoke with Huor once. I was very curious about him and his brother. They were the first Men I had ever lain eyes upon, but I was drawn more so to Huor than his brother. I was not satisfied with the glimpses I had and wanted to meet him in person to study him closer, to read his heart, to understand not only him but his race a little better. I came to their rooms with a few maids and offered them gifts on behalf of my father. They both thanked me graciously, but Huor bowed before me and seemed as equally fascinated by me as I was of him, though we could not find words to say other than formalities.

'Your father is a great leader,' he said to me. 'No doubt you will become a great lady.'

"Just from these words and upon studying his face, I could read into his heart a little. Like you, he wears it upon his sleeve and seemed to have nothing to hide. I could sense he was in awe of Gondolin and its people, of course. But I could also tell he was very loyal. He loved his brother well. He was a warrior but hated killing anything other than foul Orcs. I also sensed a shadow upon him. I would later learn that he was thinking of a young woman left in his care that he was expected to wed despite what their feelings might be. He was driven and determined, not only to do his duty but to truly do whatever he could to improve the lot of his people and all their allies. I sensed it in Húrin as well, but not to such a degree. Húrin seemed more self-absorbed and that his fierce pride encompassed all else. Then I turned to Huor.

'I understand that you are to depart Gondolin for now?' I said.

'Aye,' he nodded. 'I do not expect that I shall ever return. It is a pity. Gondolin is the fairest city I have ever laid eyes upon.'

'You will not be leaving forever,' I said with certainty. 'You will return, perhaps in another lifetime. When you do, the daughter of Turgon shall be here to greet you.'

"He gazed at me, wondering what on earth I must have meant. For that I did not blame him. It was a moment of foresight, I suspect. When that happens I often am not aware that I said anything in the first place. This time I remembered, though. I have counted several lifetimes of Men, but I will never forget Huor. It would seem to me that my words were proven true, for you are here. Your father is alive in you, Tuor."

It was then that the servants barged in with food. Tuor was indeed starving, but he longed to hear more from Idril if he could. He was disappointed to see she was leaving and would not dine with him. She paused when she read his thoughts upon his face.

"I have nothing else to tell you about your father, I am afraid," she said. "I wish I could tell you more. I must tend to my father and kinsman now. I am anxious to know what my father will do in response to Ulmo's message. I have a feeling it will not take much longer for him to decide. Your companion Voronwë should be with you soon."

"Are you so certain they have reached a decision already? I thought that the Eldar took a long time to discuss anything, especially kings."

Idril frowned, "My father has made hasty decisions in the past."

"You speak as one that has no hope. What do you suppose King Turgon has decided?"

"Good day, Tuor. You will enjoy your time here in Gondolin."

She curtsied and quickly departed leaving Tuor confused and afraid that he had offended her. She felt no anger or annoyance, merely fear at her own actions. They had only just met and within that small frame of time she had revealed more to him than she had revealed to anyone else save perhaps Engner. She could hardly believe herself even as it was happening. Divine Messenger, Chosen One, whatever he may be, Tuor was a young mortal that was as foreign as one could possibly be in Gondolin and a complete stranger to her. Yet why did she seem so comfortable, even eager to talk with him? Even to touch him...

"It is through, cousin," said a voice in her ear and Maeglin wound his arms about her shoulders and neck from behind. She stopped herself from gasping aloud and was ashamed that after all these years he could still creep up on her like this. Maeglin had grown up in shadows and kept to them still even in a city of light. He always used them to his advantage to move stealthily and speedily. She had not seen him coming. They were not alone thankfully. Several of his servants were following at a distance and the halls were filled with others of various households. She tolerated his touch this time. To everyone else it appeared as though Maeglin were simply exorcising the familiar physical bond family shared, but Idril knew his inner thoughts. He took too much secret pleasure in such contact.

"I thought I should come to you and inform you before anyone else. I know you care, though you did not attend. I do not blame you."

She bit her tongue. He had come to brag. She knew very well what decision had been made and that Maeglin had much to do with it. Even if she had been there and said all the right things, he still would have won the day.

"Let me guess: Absolutely nothing is to be done," she could not help herself, the bitterness was obvious.

"Our people and our army remains where they are," Maeglin explained. "Security shall be tightened, our defenses repaired and the city made impregnable. You are not pleased?"

"It is not my decision and I will say nothing more."

"I wish you would, coz. You know I am dying to get inside of your mind."

She forced a smile, hoping if she gave him even a morsel of what he wanted he would at least take his hands off her, "You are a devil, Maeglin. Perhaps later we can talk. I would go visit Engner since the council is done."

"He will tell you nothing that I cannot already tell you. Ask me anything."

"Very well," she might as well take advantage of that, "What is to be done about Tuor?"

Maeglin's hands dropped from her and he even took a step back. "We did not discuss it. Why?"

"Well, his message has been delivered," she turned to look at him as she spoke. "To our knowledge, his mission is done and over with. It seems he has no other purpose of being here. He spoke to me of trying to find both his foster family and his own people. But there is the Law. Will he be kept here? Even against his will?"

Maeglin considered what she had said, "That is a good question. If we allow the human to leave he could pose a security risk to Gondolin. He knows not only the way, but has seen all citizens of note and merit and the most distinguishable parts of the city. No doubt our uncle would keep him here for the rest of his natural life as some sort of curiosity. If the man is pig-headed, though, and attempts to leave, I would not spare him."

"You mean you would execute the Messenger of Ulmo? Might that anger the one Vala that has ever reached out to the Noldor?"

"As soon as that mantle disappeared, he ceased to be under the Vala's fickle protection and interest, I think. Why Ulmo chose him in the first place is beyond me. Perhaps he sent a mortal as an insult and to somehow convince us that we are not immortal as we seem. I do not see why killing Tuor would anger Ulmo, and if it did, the Noldor have rebelled against the Ainur before."

"With disastrous consequences," Idril reminded him. "We are exiled, stained with blood, and tolerated at best by our neighbors."

"We are the only ones that have dared defy Morgoth at all. We offer protection and nothing but friendship to others and have tried reconciliation with the Valar for too long. They will never give it. Perhaps they are more prideful than us, weaker than us, and do not care to admit it. We must rely upon ourselves and this city."

"Very moving words. They must have served you well at council."

"That they did," he grinned and hugged her with affection. "Are you sure you did not transform yourself into a bird and perch at the window sill as we spoke?"

"Would that I could."

"Do not worry about this Tuor," Maeglin breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. "I will make certain he troubles no one."

"That is what I am afraid of."

"What do you mean, coz?"

"I do not wish for him to be harmed."

"Ever the gentle soul," Maeglin sighed. "You care too much for such a base creature."

Now she was becoming angry. Not for the first time she thought she hated Maeglin and suddenly she could endure his touch no longer. She slipped from his arms.

"You care too little! I must see my father about this matter at once!"

Maeglin laughed, "Have I made you upset, dear coz? Come back, let me make amends."

She gave him the cold shoulder and went to find her father. Maeglin watched her and wondered again why she seemed so fascinated by this ex thrall and treated himself like some monster. He wished he could set her straight. He tried so hard to please her and he was rewarded over the years with infrequent spells of coldness, silence, and begrudged acceptance of his love. He knew internally that she abhorred his touch and was only friendly toward him due to their family bond. He knew, but he denied it. He still wanted her. He merely became more frustrated, more obsessed. He blamed Tuor for this particular incident. Tuor had been in the city only a few hours and already he had decided he hated him.

Voronwë did indeed return to Tuor sooner than either had expected. He was not pleased at all. In fact, he was weeping with angry tears as he stepped into the room.

"What has happened?" Tuor cried.

"King Turgon has decided to ignore Ulmo. I cannot believe it. I thought Ulmo's message would be enough, but the king has evil counsel and has shut up his ears, covered his eyes, and hardened his heart. With this decision he has likely doomed Gondolin and the inhabitants with her. I for one do not wish to be here to witness such a thing. King Turgon had a few words with his daughter. She seems to have at least convinced him that you and I should be allowed to stay here as honored guests or leave, if we so desire. If we leave, however, it must be now or never."

Tuor did not answer at once. He sat for a moment and pondered this choice. Ulmo had sent him to Gondolin for a purpose. For much of Tuor's natural life he had searched for the Hidden City. Even now he did not know if he had sought Gondolin simply because of the call of Ulmo or because he had truly wanted it all on his own. He had found the city beyond all hope and despite whatever obstacles had been cast in his path. The city was fairer than any place he had ever seen. He felt a strange feeling of home behind its walls. He felt a brotherly love for the Elves here that he had never felt among his own kind. He faced a dilemma. Now that he had delivered his message, he seemed to have nothing more to do in Gondolin. At the same time, he did not seem to have much purpose outside of it either.

He could wander aimlessly to find Annael and his people, a quest that would likely only lead him to wandering for the rest of his days or end them as a thrall himself in Angband. He had tasted the bitterness of thralldom under the Easterlings and would rather die than experience it again. He could pursue liberating his own people, his own race. Maybe he should swear off both the Valar and the Elves and their affairs and focus upon humans. But this too, seemed a lost cause. He had been rewarded with curiosity about his own folk with bondage. When he tried to encourage them to rise up, they behaved like timid sheep or laughed in his face. He seemed to matter less to them than he did to even the meanest of the Eldar.

His final option, and the one that appealed most to him at that moment, was to leave and return to the Sea. He had felt a powerful connection with the Sea as well, and the Sea was Ulmo's domain. Perhaps Ulmo had a purpose for him there. He did not know where he would sail or what new horrors Ossë would throw at him, but the idea of exploring unknown waters that not even the Eldar had seen thrilled him. He could become a mariner, mapping out the waters, searching for islands, sea creatures, or long lost Valinor, lost even to the Eldar. Furthermore, it seemed to be what Voronwë wanted. Voronwë would teach him of ships and sailing. If he decided to wander the seas, he would at least have a friend.

"What would you do if you had been offered the choice and not I?" he asked his companion.

"I would not leave your side. You are the reason I am still alive. You and Ulmo's mercy spared me, that is. I feel I owe it to you to remain your guide and friend. If you choose to leave the city, I will go wherever you wish to go. Even to death, for that I cheated."

"I will not ask that much of you, though the thought is tempting," Tuor cracked a smile. "I am grateful, friend."

Voronwë offered his hand and Tuor clasped it. He was glad. The two had been brought together by fate and experienced a rough journey together. It would be a shame to part now when they could be friends in better circumstances and by choice.

"Well then," Tuor said, "Let us leave this place. Let us sail the sea."

Voronwë seemed pleased at that. They hastily gathered their things without a word to anyone and mounted their horses, fearing that the king may change his mind. They were about to leave through the Hidden Way before it was to be sealed off forever when a white figure called to them, pursuing them upon a silver gelding. It was Idril Celebrindal.

"Lords, where are you going?" she demanded.

Tuor found himself suddenly ashamed. They were trying to sneak away as thieves in the night without farewells or thanks. He was a fool to think he would not offend anyone. He was especially ashamed that it seemed to be Princess Idril most of all. Her eyes were wild with what he thought must be anger. In truth it was hurt and desperation.

"There is no place for us here, White Lady," Voronwë responded since Tuor had become mute. "The king gave us leave to go thanks to your efforts. It was a kind thing you did for us. Forgive us for leaving so suddenly."

"I asked my father to give you that option, but I did not believe that you would actually take it!" Idril was so distressed and struggling not to show it that her gelding intuitively felt it and began to fidget. "Why would you leave?"

"Ulmo's message goes unheeded. Why should we stay among a people that chooses to ignore us?" Tuor unbridled his tongue. "You see wisdom and many things, Princess, but can you see a reason for me, one of alien race, to stay where I have no right to be?"

Idril already had answers, but which to use she must choose carefully. She was already acting wildly out of character chasing after them alone. She was still not certain of her own actions. She was also both flattered and annoyed that Tuor called her Princess. It distracted her. She evaded his eyes then found her sense.

"Ulmo sent you here to deliver his message, that was plain," she began on a much calmer note. "But what if there was another reason you were sent here? Surely Ulmo could have sent anyone to simply deliver a message. He could have chosen Voronwë. He might have sent a talking bird or a fish that had grown legs. Even those two might have been more likely. Instead he chose you, son of Huor. There must be a hidden purpose there that I cannot foresee. Even if there is not, you have a duty to see Ulmo's prophecy fulfilled. How can you warn of great danger and then leave the city of Gondolin to her fate so callously? None of these people have an option to leave. They are doomed. Maybe there is hope yet that if you stay and convince my father that you care, he will see that Ulmo and the rest of the Valar do as well. My father seemed very reluctant to see you leave, Tuor. He agreed with me at once that Voronwë as a citizen of Gondolin and a mariner should be allowed to depart. He would not tell me why he wanted you to remain. It took all my persuasive power. Perhaps Ulmo will continue to speak through you at some critical moment. How can you be so certain your mission here is done?"

Even Voronwë was baffled and felt half a fool. He had not thought of any mission other than to deliver the Messenger and his message. Tuor had wondered, but now that Idril had spoken of it, it bore more weight. He was surprised King Turgon had refused to let him leave. Why would such a being want to keep an ex-thrall mortal around?

Then Tuor looked into Idril's eyes. She gazed back, eyes glossed over with hope. Her golden hair caught the light of the rising sun. He was amazed by her beauty a second time, though it felt like the first. Then he laughed.

"I will stay, if the Princess of Gondolin merely asks me herself," he said. "Ask me to stay because you want me to stay and I will not deny you. If you do not wish for me to stay or do not care, I will leave. Simple as that. Do you wish me to stay?"

Idril was confused by his strange request. What she wanted was irrelevant. It was Tuor's choice not hers. Voronwë watched them both with interest. It was a bold thing Tuor asked, and Idril's hesitation and distress, which she could not hide so well at that moment, said much.

"I am asking you to stay, milord," Idril said slowly and with feeling. "I want you here, as does my father."

"I will," Tuor said in a heartbeat. "For you, Princess."

Idril could not help herself. She smiled and her face lit up with utter joy. Tuor smiled back with pleasure and bowed. Voronwë groaned.

"Whatever happened to our adventures upon the Sea?"

"She speaks the truth," Tuor said with sudden seriousness. "If Ulmo has a purpose for me here yet, I must not risk failing."

Voronwë nodded, "I suppose so. Maybe Ulmo has a plan for me as well. Maybe I will finally fall for a lass and settle down. Mariners grow lonely and weary upon the Sea."


	10. Tuor and Idril

So Tuor remained in Gondolin and swore his service to King Turgon. He was bound now to live out the rest of his life in the city, or until Turgon released him from service. It was not a decision he would regret, though occasionally dreams of the sea or curiosity about his own race haunted him. He kept the sea longing at bay by studying all that he could about ships and maps of the waters with Voronwë. He decided to put his past and all thoughts of his race behind him as best as he could by blending in with the Golodrim. He dressed in their fashion, cropped his beard, spoke their tongue flawlessly, and engaged in all their festivities. The Golodrim quickly embraced him as one of their own. He had celebrity status among the common folk. Some even thought that he was holy and begged to touch his cloak to receive Ulmo's blessing. The Lords of Gondolin were more sober but eager to see how he would contribute and had confidence he could bring only good things with his presence.

As for Turgon, Tuor had always admired him since first he heard his name. Turgon was charismatic and amicable. He loved his city and his people were content. He dealt justice carefully and rewarded his subjects often. He was generous and good natured. He was also fair to look upon and a competent warrior. He was everything one could want in a leader, or so Tuor believed. Turgon treated him as though he were an Elf-prince and not a former human slave in exile. He insisted that Tuor become a member of his council to represent the other free races and Ulmo's will, though Tuor could no more interpret that than he could the will of the other free folk of the world. Fortunately for him, Annael had groomed him for leadership. His foster father had dreamed that Tuor would be king of the House of Hador. He could not have imagined that Tuor would wind up far from his kin and home and become an adviser to one of the last great kings of the Eldar. The education served him well, and since he absorbed himself in the culture of Gondolin and listened well to others and weighed all matters and opinions, he found that he had a talent for politics, even eloquence in speech. He quickly proved himself to the rest of the council and Turgon became even more impressed than he already was with Tuor and rose ever higher in his favor.

When Tuor was not debating and deliberating or studying the mariner's life with Voronwë, he took up the harp and the role of the minstrel. Whenever a storm came upon the city in which rain poured so frequently and heavily it seemed the very ocean had come to flood the beauteous city, he became inspired to write ballads. They were songs of his sea longing, songs of the bitterness of Man, songs of the vagabond, and even songs of Ulmo. These songs were often cryptic and vague but compelling. He suspected they might have even come from the deity himself but he never understood their message. The words and melodies came of their own accord. He had a melodious voice that was calm and soothing to most ears and sang in Quenya, which was a sing song language in itself. It began as a mere hobby at first, but when others began to hear the music coming out of his window they requested more. The word spread then that Doriath had its minstrel in Daeron, Nargothrond had Maglor, and Gondolin had Tuor. All Eldar set a high store upon voices and music, but the Golodrim especially had a passion for it.

When asked why he chose a harp as his instrument, Tuor answered that the instrument was the most beautiful and made the sweetest sounds and that the strings reminded him of the hair of a woman. What woman he spoke of he would not say and no one could guess. That was because it was no woman, but an elf maiden. Tuor secretly loved Turgon's daughter though he knew he was a fool for it. He wondered that his heart longed for the Princess and not a common Elf-maid, for all the ladies of Gondolin were beautiful. He supposed he noticed Idril because of her quiet dignity, her eyes that seemed to see beyond the flesh and bone and discover the true character and spirit of those around her, and her low but lovely voice. He also loved her hair, the golden hair that only the Vanyar possessed.

Idril had fallen for Tuor the moment she saw him cloaked in the mantle of Ulmo. He was tall and handsome. He also had a head of gold of a different shade than her own but no less lustrous. She had a strange affection for the beard upon his chin when first he arrived and was a little sad that he kept himself as smooth as the rest of the Elves. He was muscular due to his wary life with Annael and his back breaking labor as a thrall and had proven himself a capable warrior with axes. She was impressed with his voice and the manner in which he used it. She would listen and watch his music from her window as he played at the market and even began attending councils again simply to witness his success.

She tried to deny and then ignore her feelings. She told herself what she felt was simply infatuation, not love, and it would fade once Tuor settled in the city. To prove it to herself, she began to walk about the gardens, knowing Tuor often passed through them so that they saw each other daily. Perhaps if she satisfied her curiosity, she would feel nothing for him. She felt a thrill every time she saw him, as did he for her.

For several weeks they exchanged glances as they passed by one another, neither daring to say more than a formal greeting and farewell. Little by little, the thrill instead of fading and feeling apathy as Idril had hoped deepened from nervous tension to comfortable affection. She began to ask him questions and he would continue conversations. They considered one another friends and desired more. Idril feared the consequences of pursuing Tuor. She thought of the fate of Lúthien and Beren with dread. Though her father Turgon seemed to love Tuor, she had no way of knowing if he would react just as King Thingol had when he discovered his beloved daughter was secretly meeting a mortal. She also worried about Maeglin. She sensed that her kinsman was still engrossed with her in his own twisted way but harbored nothing but hatred for Tuor son of Huor.

For perhaps the first time since her brief reunion with Aredhel, Idril was happy. She sought out Tuor's company more often and even in public. It became obvious to all that her face brightened the moment she saw him.

Maeglin was the first to notice and became insanely jealous. He made subtle attempts to gain her attention.

The morning of one of the great festivals of the year, Maeglin tried to satisfy his urge yet again with a chambermaid. Many of his female servants grew to desire him eventually. They were low born enough that he could purchase their silence as well. Even if they spoke of what he did to them, their word counted for nothing against his. The Eldar kept their secrets and had their flaws same as Men. They were simply rarer and long went unaccounted for.

"Stop it, Maeglin! You are squeezing my wrists too hard!" the maid whined.

"Stop calling me Maeglin and I will consider it!" he growled.

He became rougher. She let out a cry of pain, but he seemed deaf to it. He gripped her tighter, right upon a pressure point.

"Master, stop!" the maid sobbed.

He groaned. 'Master' was not the name he had been looking for. He had a feeling that even if the girl said it, it would have only infuriated him more.

"I am paying you triple wages for this. Play along or be silent!"

He bit her, too hard. She began to weep, but he seemed to relish even her tears.

"You are hurting me!"

"Good! I love hurting you."

"Do not pull my hair!" she said venomously.

At the sound of defiance in her voice, it grew worse.

"Stop!" the maid was shouting now. "You asked me to pretend I did not want it but I am no longer pretending!"

"You have already been paid and you will get more after. And do not lie. You wanted this."

"I wanted you, but I did not want THIS!"

"Did you really think there would be no price? That you would have your need satisfied and take coin for pleasure? That would have been cheating me."

He finished with her. She feared that she had been torn and was bleeding. Maeglin fetched two goblets of wine. The first he poured out onto her. She cried out in fresh pain.

"Quiet!" Maeglin said. "It will clean it and speed the healing. Now drink this one."

"What is it?" the girl said suspiciously.

"More wine only mixed with herbs to kill the pain. You see, I can be brutal, but I am no monster."

"There would be no need for such things if you were only gentler!" the girl sobbed but drank what was given.

Maeglin tossed her a cloak and a small purse of coin.

"Get out."

She gladly left. Maeglin put on his own robe and began to drink. He knew his relief was only temporary. This maid would dismiss herself within the week. There may be murmurs at court for a while, but nothing to tarnish his reputation. He would have to start searching for another maid with Idril's features, or as close as he could come. Few in Gondolin had been born with the golden sheen of the Vanyar. Most Golodrim had a gold that was more like pale silver or dirty blonde. And it was hard to match the eyes as well. Idril's were gray and haunting. He told himself it was because he knew the girls were never quite a match and that was why he was such a sadist. If Idril were in his bed he would treat her more gently.

She was there at the festival wearing flowing white robes, a silver circlet about her brow and a silver girdle about her waist. As usual, she came with Engner as her escort and had no suitors. She chatted with the other lords and ladies and also to any servants when they brought her wine and choice edibles. She was well loved by both classes and engaged herself with ease socially when she wanted to. But she preferred standing in the shadows in solitude. If she was not drawn into conversation there was a look in her eyes of gentle appraisal, quiet observation, and, as only Maeglin could see, a touch of sadness and loneliness.

He dressed in his sporting scarlet and ebony robes beneath which he wore boiled leather leggings, rings, and stylish boots. He boasted and told jokes and greeted lords like old friends. Their ladies would gaze at him and blush. He had a girl on his arm and drank heavily but managed to keep his head. The court admired him. But the servants feared him. Especially some of the serving girls that had once served in his household.

After Maeglin had danced with his girl and made a show of his intentions, he inevitably approached Idril. She kept her eyes low to try to hide her annoyance. She did not want to dance, and never with Maeglin. But she was too kind hearted to refuse and it was a formality that was expected. Furthermore, Maeglin knew that she feared him. He knew almost all her thoughts no matter how guarded she seemed. He knew her body language, the subtle expressions in her face and eyes. He could even reach into her mind when she was not careful.

"Dance with me, coz?" he held out his hand.

She gave him an icy glare, "What of your companion?" She nodded to the girl that was talking with other suitors.

"Are you jealous that she is receiving my affections?"

"You would like that," she said dryly. "Do you wish to make her jealous? I have ever found the prolonged and fickle art of courtship distasteful and I do not engage in it as vigorously as you, coz. I have never known a lover of any kind, but I do know that there are better ways to keep a maiden in your arms."

"You have not known anyone still, coz? You should know that you could have any lord or pot boy in the realm if you only cared for it."

"I care for it. Perhaps that is why I do not take the pot boy into my bed."

"Well said. But what of the lordlings? Why not gold headed Glorfindel or dark headed Ecthelion? They were suitors of my mother once."

"I know."

He could tell she was not interested in this sordid subject. The mortal, Tuor, had arrived with his friend Voronwë dogging his steps. Her eyes followed him though he quietly greeted the folk of the hall and was too shy to look long at her.

"It is said that mortals lack control and finesse as lovers," Maeglin said with disgust. "They cannot control when they breed. Mark my words, Idril; we would be overrun with them if there were women here at court too."

Idril began to turn away from him, no longer willing to hear such hateful speculations and hoping to avoid a dance. Maeglin was surprised. Usually she was less openly resistant.

"Where are you going?" he snatched her arm. "I will not take no for an answer."

She recoiled a little, only a little, at his touch. To others it seemed he merely startled her and those around them laughed. Already some were gathering to watch them.

"Coz," she painted a smile on her face, "how can I say no? You did not even wait for my answer."

"Forgive me," it was a dismissive apology.

He waited for the next ballad to begin. As they waited, he pulled her so that they were partially hidden behind a massive pillar giving him the desired privacy he wanted even in a crowded hall. She sighed, clearly frustrated and wishing the dance was over before it had even begun.

"You look beautiful," he whispered.

"You say that every time," she was not flattered.

"It is true every time."

He clasped one of her slender hands and began tracing each finger as he raked the rest of her body with his eyes. He could feel her shudder at his intimate touch.

"Stop that!" she said so low he almost did not hear.

"Does it tickle?" he teased.

"I do not like it."

He placed her hand upon his chest and began to kiss the fingers of the other.

"What makes you think I like that any better?" she hissed.

"Why are you so incredibly moody tonight?" he retorted. "Perhaps this is why you have not known anyone yet."

The next song began and he clasped her close. His hands swept down her body so that they would be at the proper place, her waist. His hand crossed lightly over her breast for no more than a tenth of a second. It was a bold move but easily dismissed as an honest accident. No one saw, but Idril had noticed. Her eyes flashed with anger when he touched her there and she let in a sharp intake of breath that could have been arousal but was mostly fear. Maeglin took pleasure in her subtle reaction but did not show it. His hands rubbed the small of her back and his eyes never left her.

She tried to pretend his touch was not affecting her at all. Then as they swept behind the pillar, he stole kisses upon her brow, then her cheek, and then he bit her ear. He had never been so bold or aggressive.

"Maeglin!" she rasped through clenched teeth.

"It is a trick I learned through all my useless courting. Useless to you more like. What did you think of it? My companion is like you. She has not known a male either. All others I have had before were experienced. I thought to test it out on you, coz, before I risked it upon her. I do not want her to think I am some beast. It is supposed to be playful. Some maidens enjoy it. Did it frighten you or did it excite you? Would it excite you if you cared for such things?"

"What does it matter?" Idril snapped. "You will be with a new maiden next time! You always tire of your girls! My advice is wasted upon you! Never do that again!"

He sneered and when their dance came to an end and all were watching Maeglin said, "A kiss, coz?"

She gave him a sisterly kiss on the lips. After that dance, she wished she could slap him instead. Again, the look of lust he gave her afterward went entirely unnoticed. She was trembling by the end of it and felt cold and clammy all over. She was still trembling when she turned about and almost bumped into Tuor. By chance he had happened to be at her side.

"Is it chill in here?" he asked.

"What?"

"Well, you are shaking."

"I am?"

Tuor's brow furrowed as he struggled to respond. She did not mean to make him feel insecure or to belittle him. She was simply amazed that of all the people in the hall, he was the only one that noticed her sickened state. He was observant, but he could not possibly guess what caused it. To her, it was more than anyone else had ever done. She smiled.

"Aye, I am shaking. There must be a draft in here," she said with a glance at Maeglin.

"Did your kinsman step on your toes?" Tuor noted her glance as well.

"He did more than that."

"Who knew the prince was such a clumsy dancer? Hard to imagine, I must say."

"It is not that he is clumsy," Idril shook her head. "He knows very well what he does."

"He is credited for being one of the better dancers," Tuor was confused.

Idril felt Maeglin's gaze from across the room and his hatred for the poor mortal and his twisted desire for her.

"Would you like to dance, Tuor?" she said suddenly.

He was visibly caught off guard. "Princess?"

"Would you dance with me?" she repeated slowly.

There was fear but unmistakable joy in his eyes, "How can I possibly refuse you, Princess?"

It gave her a thrill every time he called her 'princess'. No one ever called her by that title but him. And even though it was just that, a formal title, he said it with such tenderness. She loved it more than she cared to admit to herself. She took his hand but he hesitated.

"What is it?"

"It is simply that I have never..."

"Danced?" she giggled.

"Well, I have, but not with a woman," he murmured.

"Or an elf-maid?"

Idril's voice took on a very playful and taunting tone. It was both foreign to her and natural. It puzzled her, but she did not want to check it. Tuor found it slightly intimidating but also irresistible.

"Neither," he sighed. "Elf-maid or woman. There is no distinction in my mind."

"I have never danced with a Man either. The idea is tempting, though. Let me teach you."

She took his hands and guided them about her waist. Tuor was like a statue at first. With each throbbing heart beat and step though, he relaxed. He was beginning to enjoy this. Idril could not help herself. She looked upon him adoringly and squeezed his shoulders gently. Maeglin watched with disapproval from the shadows. But Voronwë and Engner whispered to each other. A deal was struck and they shook hands with wide grins on their faces.

Maeglin found what little power he had over his beloved cousin slipping. He gave Idril gifts and supported her at court but was sabotaged elsewhere. For example, he used to seek her out at festivals and demand dances. She could not refuse him, and no others dared get in his way. At least they used to. It was one of the few occasions in which he had an excuse to be close to her and to touch her. It gave him the small crumbs he needed to warm his bed at night and ease his dangerous desire. Now he found himself suddenly bombarded by the other guests when he tried to make his move. He would get wrapped up in their insipid conversations and there was a gauntlet of new friends about Idril so that he could not reach her. Tuor was allowed through and now he danced with her instead. Maeglin noted it was usually Engner that stopped him first and Voronwë was guarding Idril and guiding Tuor to her. They were no doubt playing match maker. That was no surprise. Engner had always been very close to Idril and to his mother, but never to Maeglin. Voronwë was indebted to Tuor and for all intents and purposes considered him a brother after what they had been through together.

What alarmed Maeglin was that there were others. Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Elemmakil, even the King himself became the obstacles. Minor lords would ask him to dance with their lovely daughters. Out of courtesy, he could not say no. Then they would hang on his arm. Some of them he had had before and spurned. Servants bothered him with trivial questions, offered him food and drink, or found some other way to try to distract him. He knew now that he had enemies in Gondolin. He made a note of every person that moved to stop him and especially those that supported Tuor. Their actions confirmed his previous suspicions and fed his growing paranoia. He began to fill his own house with spies and to tighten his grip upon what followers he had. He did all he could to win over other lords at court, seeking out the ambitious, the weak minded and the cowardly.

He offered coin and promised favors to the former, amazed that waving a bag of gold or mithril could be so effective in buying loyalty. He expected such behavior form Dwarves, not high born Elves. He used threats and blackmail to the later of the list, using his spies to obtain secrets and personal information. He soon had a compiled list of all the lurid affairs past or present at court, examples of theft or corruption. There was a small list of such infractions, but again Maeglin was appalled. He would not expect such from spoiled sons of nobles. He took full advantage of those transgressors that he did find. Because he was a good judge of hearts, he could sense fear so that a few subtle threats in private worked wonders as well. He reminded the weak that he was nephew of King Turgon and was most likely to inherit the throne. When he was king, he would remember his allies and his enemies and reward or punish them accordingly.

Salagant was the chief of his followers. He was ambitious, greedy, and cowardly all rolled into one. It was to him Maeglin most often gave his dirtiest tasks such as spying and quietly stealing coin and goods to hoard away in Maeglin's vault. He also kept around him an entourage of young Elves that were no better than thugs, the spoiled sons of minor but rich lords. Others felt they had been slighted somehow by Tuor and the other lords, or they were apprentices of Maeglin's. He had taken half a dozen boys from childhood and mentored them in the arts of combat, mining and metal working. As a result, they admired him, were fiercely loyal, and had adopted not only the abilities he taught but his mannerisms. They were all part of his House, the House of the Mole.

It was easy, therefore, for Maeglin to track Tuor and Idril's budding romance. Three years went by and he watched and waited like a spider spinning his webs and expanding his private army. He was kind to Idril and avoided touching her or making her uncomfortable. He was jealous of Tuor's golden hair. He was jealous of his green eyes which so many found intriguing. He was jealous of his voice. Maeglin had many talents of his own, but he could not carry a tune. His mother Aredhel had preferred hunting and sang with no more than an average voice and was seldom happy enough to burst into joyful song or too full of sorrow to sing even the most melancholy ones. His father never kept a single minstrel and called them 'pansies and weak fools'. Only maidens had a right to sing and that was only to soothe their babes or catch a husband. Maeglin was jealous that Turgon was so taken by the mortal. It annoyed him that the people of Gondolin were treating Tuor much as they had treated Maeglin when he first became a citizen of the city even though the mortal had done less than half of what he had done to earn such love and respect.

Maeglin was by birth not only one of the Golodrim, but their prince. Tuor was nothing. Maeglin had defended the Noldor upon the battlefield, built the Steel Gate, and helped revolutionize weapons and armor within the first short years. But now it seemed that the people had grown disenchanted with Turgon's nephew. He had once seemed enigmatic and unique. He had been raised, by their standards, in the barbarian wild by an evil father and a beautiful but reckless mother. He had spent much of that time being educated by the Dwarf folk and they speculated upon what dark arts the Dark Elf had passed on to his son. After his accomplishments, he became reclusive and bitter. The reason why was a favorite topic among gossipers. They suspected it was because with such a long peace his gate was merely a decoration and his weapons and armor were worn just for show and so were unappreciated. Some wondered if he and his uncle the King were fighting. Others spoke of his failed romances and whispers of his insatiable appetite and bizarre requests of his lovers and his household spread. If he caught anyone engaging in such talk he would furiously deny them and sought to slander and discredit the other party.

Maeglin, it seemed, was slowly losing control of his vices. He had spent centuries repressing his anger, jealously, lusts, and bitter disappointments and spent what energy he had left putting on pretenses so he could fool the populace. More frequently, he lashed out upon people starting with his servants. He kept a small house and trusted none of them. He warned the cooks and chambermaids often to do their duties and never disturb his privacy. He refused to speak of personal issues. If they proved lazy or incompetent, he began to punish them. The punishments began congenially enough, but gradually they became more severe. Some of his staff left to work elsewhere, stating only that they had become uneasy and tired of menial work. Maeglin had much more bodyguards than he did servants anyhow and these he paid good coin to obey him unquestionably. Sometimes he demanded odd things. He required a guard with him to the forge, to escort him through the streets, to go beyond the walls to mine, to festivities. The only place they did not go was his privy chamber and within the forge itself. He refused to allow anyone to spy upon his secrets. He worked in the forge for days without sleeping or eating only to destroy his work and begin again. What he was working on, or what he was attempting to discover or do, no one could say.

A curious apprentice boy once made the mistake of peeking into Maeglin's forge and whispered to his friends about it. Of course, one small whisper caused wild rumors. The boy claimed he had seen strange devices. There were weapons of all sorts upon the walls. There were traps with iron springs, cages with strategically placed spikes, chairs made for restraint, and other things he did not recognize and could not possibly guess their purpose. All of these, no doubt, were intended for use against Orcs. What the boy noted most, however, was a pair of chains tucked away in a corner. They could not have been intended for Orcs, for they had been made with the finest material and were elaborately ornate. One did not decorate chains for a despised Orc. The chains were made of precious mithril, a delicate yet hard metal. It was also beautiful and well-polished with gems encrusted into the links. He tried to get closer to study them, but Maeglin caught him. He threw the boy out of the forge, cursing and shouting. The boy's apprenticeship ended that day. Maeglin had declared that if the child were his own, he would have given the little spy a bloody hide.

Besides developing a less than cordial attitude toward his subjects and apprentices, Maeglin also developed a cold hatred for his ex-lovers and they for him. There was one particular maiden that complained to all that would listen that Maeglin had not only broken her heart, but abused her. She had wanted to avoid the prince altogether as he already had an infamous reputation among the ladies. He accosted her anyway with 'violent passion that burned as ferociously and as destructively as a flame' she described in her own words. He was obsessive and controlling. He was demanding and went into a rage when she refused him. And when she was finally willing to return his love, he took her first fruits and was suddenly done with her. When she arrived to call upon him he was always gone to mine ores or was deep in his forge and could not be disturbed. She discovered that he must have been burning her letters because he said he never read them and they were never returned to her. He ignored her if they met in public. Most disturbingly, she claimed he had struck her and warned her to never approach him again or speak of what had happened between them. There was no evidence of the abuse. The girl was merely a servant in some minor lord's house. She was pretty but prone to bad dreams and unable to recall her memory at times. Maeglin denied he had ever touched her in anger or in passion and most dismissed her.

Except Engner. He interviewed the girl and spoke with her father and her companions. Her father admitted the prince had seemed interested in courting his daughter but when the father finally gave him permission the prince was already courting someone of higher born stock. Meanwhile his daughter said nothing for years and Engner was sure the father was too afraid to condemn the nephew of the king. If something had happened, Maeglin had carried it out very secretly and very quickly. What alarmed Engner was that the girl looked as though she could have been Idril's little sister. She was barely more than a child. Her eyes were a watery gray and her hair resembled pale silver rather than gold, but her features were strikingly similar. Whenever he tried to interview Maeglin's household asking about the girl or Maeglin's doings in general, all he got was upturned noses, scared looks, and cold warnings to mind his own matters.

Maeglin took special care to hide his secrets and oddities as much as he could. The one thing he could not contain, however, was his hatred for Tuor. He would give him cold glances in passing, opposed his views and proposals at council, and even insulted him to his face. During a heated debate before the rest of the counselors, Idril, and Turgon himself, Maeglin called him a 'base-born ex-thrall' and a string of other things. There was a silence after that. Everyone was aghast. Then Turgon became furious at his nephew for the first time, and when on rare occasion the King did become angry, all trembled at the force in his voice.

"Sister-son!" he bellowed. "Curb your temper and your tongue, shed your ignorance, and leave this chamber at once! I will speak with you privately later!"

Maeglin was surprised at his own outburst and visibly disturbed by his uncle's reaction. He left the chamber stiffly, his face red.

"Tuor, you must forgive him," the king apologized for his kin.

"It is nothing," Tuor replied. "Prince Maeglin is simply not one to lose an argument, especially not to one such as me. After all, I have been here a little less than three years it seems presumptuous of me to contradict him."

The rest of the court chose to remain silent on the issue and continued the meeting as though nothing had happened, though they looked uneasily at Maeglin's empty seat. More than one of them had been verbally attacked before, but no so viciously. Maeglin's style had always been to listen carefully, not to interrupt. Then he usually deconstructed his rival's argument aggressively. Never did he resort to name calling. They were also nervous that there was tension between the king and his presumed heir. Idril's pallor was gray, and Tuor was more worried for her than himself. She was angry and growing angrier by the second. Tuor could only be surprised and confused. He barely knew Maeglin and could only suppose the prince hated him because he was human. He could think of nothing that he had ever done to deserve such venom.

After the session, Turgon summoned Maeglin. They were both hesitant to speak.

"I apologize, Uncle," Maeglin started preemptively. "My actions were inexcusable. It will not happen again."

"I truly hope so!" Turgon snapped. "Why did you allow yourself to lose control? You said some very harsh words. If Tuor were a lesser man, he would have struck out at you somehow."

"I wonder if he is not a 'lesser' man, Uncle. I am annoyed that he is even allowed to embroil himself in our politics, such as they are, and I lost patience with him this time. I am also concerned about his growing influence upon you. He is still a stranger in my eyes and he cannot possibly have our people's interest at heart. He is not one of them!"

"His heart is pure and he has the favor of Ulmo. You must not be so quick to dismiss him, Maeglin. I beg you to make of him an ally, not an enemy."

"I prefer to remain neutral. I do not trust him."

Turgon sighed, "I must say that for the first time, you disappoint me, sister-son. Perhaps if you get to know Tuor, you will change your mind. Think on it. In the meantime, you shall apologize to him and to the council for your outburst!"

"That sounds fitting," Maeglin said softly, though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

He apologized formally, but after the assembly, Idril accompanied Tuor. She was angry as only her family members could make her. She was absolutely livid. She rarely expressed such anger, and Tuor was shocked. He had never seen the Princess in such a state, had not seen very much emotion from her at all. He was surprised she was allowing him to witness it. Surprised and nervous. It was the King and the Prince she spoke of, her father and her cousin, but they were also the liege lord and his potential heir. It was one thing if she spoke of personal matters and quite another when she spoke pure politics. It was confusing and dangerous when she mixed the two of them. It was even more dangerous for Tuor.

"I cannot believe Maeglin said such malicious things concerning you and that my father did so little to rebuke him!" she began venting before he could stop her. "Such a deed would never be tolerated from anyone else! It is not the first time Maeglin has shown distaste for Men, but in this case, he attacked you as an individual."

"My lady, the prince spoke in a blind rage because he passionately disagreed with me. He had a moment of careless prejudice, but he has apologized. No harm was done," Tuor tried to defend the rest of the Royal Family desperately.

Idril's frown deepened, "My father forced that apology upon him. I have no doubt of that. I know Maeglin. He was using every fiber of his being to control his hatred. He has done you wrong, but in his mind, you will ever be the transgressor."

"I am willing to give the prince time to change his views about me. He really seems to get under your skin."

"That he does," Tuor had no idea. "And he has had time. He has only become worse. He treated your father and uncle with nothing more than suspicion. If he had had his way, the brothers would have never been allowed to leave Gondolin. He is convinced that Huor at least broke his oath with you. How else could you have found your way here? He must have told you exactly where you would need to go to find the Hidden City, as well as how to find the mantle of Ulmo. You conveniently discovered Voronwë and used him to gain the trust of the people in case the mantle itself did not. If you had been alone, the Wardens may have slain you upon sight and realized what they had done too late."

"My father was dead before I was even born and my mother soon after!" Tuor defended himself now, becoming angry too. "I heard of Turgon through Annael, and it was years of wandering aimlessly before I stumbled upon Arminas and Gelmir. It was they that gave me the bread crumbs that led me to Nevrast. Even then it was Ulmo that guided me, first in his own person, and then through Voronwë. He revealed nothing, even when it seemed likely we would freeze to death upon the road. I wish that my father had lived to entrust such secrets to me. My childhood would have been much happier. I might have never left the house of my fathers. We would have driven the Easterling horde and kept our lands. My people would not be miserable, broken slaves selling their daughters to spare themselves. Turgon, Gondolin, and Ulmo would have been names from a tale never mentioned again..." Tuor trailed off, suddenly very bitter and overwhelmed at the loss of what could have been.

He tried so very hard to forget everything before he came to Gondolin, even his true nature. One cannot forget a life half lived or injustice, however. The burden of it and the pain suffered showed upon his face a moment, and Idril pitied him.

"You have lost more than most everyone in this city, Tuor," she said. "Even me. Is it so with all humans?"

"I do not know," Tuor genuinely did not. "I spent little time with my own kind. To them I was simply Strawhead. To me, they were either sheep or wolves. I was determined to be neither."

"Do you hate them? Your own kind, that is? You do not deny what you are, yet you do not seem to embrace it either."

Tuor gazed at her a moment, considering her question carefully. Then he laughed. "I wanted to believe I was an Elf when I was a child. Annael never told me who or what I really was until age twelve. Until then I fancied I was his own son perhaps with a human woman. I knew in my heart I was not truly an Elf. But it is possible to mix the races. The tale of Beren and Lúthien inspired many such couplings. Some of the wandering folk came upon villages of Men and lived among them and took wives or husbands. Several Half-Elves were born. One of Annael's own men wed a mortal and left his kin for her, forsaking his immortal life. I was not one of those. Annael revealed I was human after all. I was a Prince of such humans. My father was a great lord and warrior. I would take his place and redeem my people. For a short time, I was not so sorely disappointed."

"And what of now?"

"I realized while I was a slave that my father was truly dead along with his House. The people that once loved and served him spoke of him only as a memory. I never knew real kindness from them, save in a precious few. Sometimes I wish that I had been Annael's son."

"Tuor," Idril said gravely. "You should not say that. Huor was admired even by great Elf-kings. He was no less of worth or substance than your foster-father. Your people are not dead, and your House lives on through you. The people of Hador are lost and confused. But time changes much. The Easterlings will breed themselves out. They are foreigners in a foreign land and cannot hope to keep it for more than a generation or two of Men. Ulmo chose you in part because you were human."

"I still do not understand why. Perhaps I never will."

Idril sighed, "I should have spoken out against Maeglin immediately. I wish my father could see his faults and all that he hides from him."

"Have you spoken to King Turgon about your feelings?"

Idril actually laughed at that, "He does not care what I think or feel."

"He is your father and he loves you."

"Tuor, you are naive."

"No, you can see it in his eyes. He loves you. Ask anyone. And Maeglin loves you too. Perhaps if you did speak to him more often, you would believe me. Add your voice to the council too and you will discover your voice is stronger than you think."

"Perhaps I will. And I will let Maeglin know how I feel as well. Right now."

She turned about to do just that. She confronted her kinsman, still enraged. Maeglin was surprised. She had never done such a thing before, and they were alone in the room save for Salagant, but he was one of his well-known lackeys so they might as well have been alone.

"I cannot believe how you have treated Tuor!" Idril began on a tirade. "How many times have I asked you to give him a chance? You hate him so unreasonably. He has even defended your actions!"

"I have heard this speech from our Uncle, coz. Much as I love to hear your voice, you need not waste your time or your breath."

"My father blinds himself to anything unpleasant!" Idril snapped. "He may have scolded you like a little child, but nothing more. Despite what you may believe, he loves you like a son. A son that could do no wrong!"

"What would you have me do then, Idril? Become friends with the mortal Tuor? Take long walks with him, as you do? Should I agree with everything he says and find all his ideas wonderful? Should I ask him to dance and press myself against him and gaze deep into his eyes as though there was nothing else or no one else in the world?"

"What are you talking about?" Idril's heart sank.

Salagant laughed. "You should stop deceiving yourself, my Lady. The truth is in your actions."

"You are in love with Tuor," Maeglin said accusingly.

Idril said nothing. She was filled with doubt. She knew she cared deeply for Tuor, but did she love him? She was so confused. She was also afraid. She had become careless and dared to hope that Maeglin had become enlightened enough to realize that his obsession with her was unnatural. Now she knew that he had only become more skilled in concealing it and spying out her secrets. She understood better why Maeglin was so hostile toward Tuor. There were many reasons, but Idril was mortified that her feelings for Tuor, however innocent they may be, was one of them. She was causing them all distress. As much as she disliked Maeglin, she did not wish to torture him. She could sense the jealousy in him, the desire, the hatred, and even the bitter loneliness and shame.

"Tuor and I are friends," she insisted. "No more or less."

"But you would like more."

"I enjoy his company and he seems to enjoy mine. I would not jump to conclusions about that! I cannot even be certain if he feels remotely the same. If he does... That is a... another matter entirely."

"Of course he is infatuated with you! You are fair and a child of kings. He would not seek you out if he had not convinced himself he was in love! He fawns upon you like some love sick puppy..."

The thought that Tuor could be in love with her after all made Idril forget even the present moment's ugliness. Much as she denied and feared the powerful feelings she had for Tuor, she had only dared fantasize that he could possibly love her. Despite her beauty, Idril was like her aunt. She was considered strange, detached from the other citizens of Gondolin, withdrawn, even cold. Her father doted upon her seldom, both her mother figures were dead, and she found it hard even to maintain friendships. She had never had suitors and expressed no interest in the subject of courtship. Furthermore, Maeglin's subtle advances caused her to withdraw even more into herself and to even fear intimacy. Until now. Tuor's touch would be welcome.

She involuntarily smiled and Maeglin became furious. He seized her wrists and pulled her toward him so that they were almost touching noses. It frightened her, but she did not want him to sense and relish that. Instead, she became angry herself.

"Do not touch me!" she hissed. "Even though you are blood, you have no right to handle me so!"

"I will not be ignored!" he roared and gripped her even tighter. "I want you to avoid that Man for your own good. He will only hurt you!"

"As you are hurting me now?" she whispered, straining not to show the pain on her face.

Maeglin loosened his grip. He was ashamed that bruises were forming upon her wrists.

"Whatever pain I cause you would not hold a candle to what Tuor would do."

"You do not even know Tuor!"

"I know more than I ever cared to know. Everyone he has ever touched, he has destroyed."

"The same could have been said of you when you first came here," Idril said bluntly. "Or even of me."

His face darkened as they both recalled Aredhel in their mind's eye. But Idril also thought of her own mother. Maeglin thought of the servants he had slaughtered and the maidens he had used. Neither wanted to think of Eöl.

"He is shunned by his own kind. He wishes he were an Elf. The people often forget that he is not but he cannot change his race! Not even the highly popular Beren Echermion was able to escape an early gave even after poor Lúthien sacrificed her immortality for him. Are you prepared to make such a sacrifice for Tuor?"

"I... do not know."

"You should at least know that much before you go and start a romance with a mortal. He is not worth the dust upon your feet! As soon as he was born, he started the process of dying! All mortals do. Despite their short lives, they do not even bond with their mates for life. It is not known if they have an afterlife. They do not love as the Eldar do or share our fates. Even if he proved a perfect lover, you will only lose him. His children may or may not choose immortality. Would you want death for your offspring?"

"It would be their choice. And mine own."

"Idril, there are others that love you. If you are too blind to see it, I am but one of them."

She looked at him sadly, "I know. Not only do I know it, but it frightens me. Because I know what is in your heart. I have always known."

"If you truly know how much I love you, then why do you push me away?" Maeglin's tone was no longer one of anger. The hungry, longing look was in his eye. "Why are you so frightened of it? There is so much hate and violence in this Marred World. Why not indulge in what love and beauty we can find wherever it may be, no matter how close it may be?"

"Maeglin-"

"Why must you continue to call me that? I have asked you repeatedly to call me Lómion."

Idril sighed, "I do not wish to talk about this anymore. Leave me be!"

"Please do not be so angry with me, Idril. I only want what is best for you. That mortal will be the death of you. I do not wish to lose you to him."

"I want what is best for you too. But you can never have me, Maeglin."

"STOP CALLING ME MAEGLIN!" he bellowed.

The door burst open and Engner strode into the room with guards. Maeglin released Idril at once and Salagant greeted the incomers.

"Lord Engner," he said pleasantly. "Why the dramatic entrance?"

"We heard shouting," he answered. "I feared there was a commotion. Is everything all right?"

"Of course," Maeglin said calmly. "My cousin and I simply had a disagreement."

"Is that so, Idril?"

She hesitated, and then said, "Yes. We were arguing loudly, that is all. We will try to keep our voices lower. I apologize that we alarmed anyone."

"Everything is under control," Salagant said reassuringly. "I was witness and nothing got out of hand."

That was enough for the guards. They returned to their posts.

"We will continue this discussion later when we have both cooled," Maeglin turned to Idril. "Remember, I will always be waiting if you should need me."

He planted a kiss upon her brow. After that, Maeglin slipped past Engner and down the hall with Salagant following.

"Idril?" Engner was full of concern. "Are you truly all right?"

"Yes."

"Very well. There is just one more thing. May I see your arms?"

Again she hesitated. She had hid her hands behind her back. She did not know why, but she did not want anyone to see the bruises. She looked about the room, as though she could find some way out of exposing herself. But Engner was too suspicious to let it go. She stretched out her arms and was relieved to see that the bruises had already healed. They had been small, after all. Engner was still suspicious, but he could say or do nothing more. He let her be.

Though the bruises were no longer visible, her wrists still ached, and though Maeglin's kiss had been no more than a chaste peck, Idril felt as though the skin where his lips had touched was somehow unclean. She was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions she did not dare share with anyone. Desperately, she sought out Aredhel's tomb.

Tuor was troubled as well. When Idril left to spring into action, he wondered what sort of action he was supposed to take. In three years he had received no signs from Ulmo. Not even a cryptic dream. He could not stop thinking of the Princess. Much as Voronwë pressured him to tell her how he felt, he could not find the courage. He found her hard to read. She had given him glimpses into her life, but nothing substantial until now. She needed provoked to reveal what was truly on her mind and he could not help but feel she was hiding some terrible secret and suffering. What could he possibly do to help her if it was true? Would she allow him to help? What could he offer as an exiled human prince? How would the King react if he revealed he wanted the hand of his only child? He decided to go for a walk.

He wandered the streets and alleys he had neglected before, trying to avoid friendly faces. He simply wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He stared at the ground and when he finally looked up he found himself before a tomb. He was amazed. Tombs among the Eldar were rare and unheard of in such a place as Gondolin. The populace was never even ill. The tomb was beautiful. It was crafted of excellent marble and stone. There were carvings of prancing animals and the Valier Nessa upon the heavy door, guarding the departed inside. Tuor was intrigued and wanted to know whose tomb it was, for it was not labeled upon the outside. He suspected it must be inside and that the inside would be as beautiful as the exterior.

He entered to find that there was a torch lit and set upon the wall already. The smell of flowers and incense sweetened the air. In the far center of the crypt was a stone sarcophagus. In the middle of the tomb was a sculpted likeness of the deceased and her name and title. Aredhel Ar-Fenial the White Lady. He was surprised that Idril sat before it, weeping and sobbing.

"Princess?"

She wiped at her tears and struggled to recover, but this time she did not have the strength. Tuor knelt beside her. She wanted to throw her arms about him but she was embarrassed that he had found her in such a state. Tuor wanted to comfort her. He took her hands in his and kissed her upon the forehead, the exact place that Maeglin had kissed her. Somehow, this comforted Idril a great deal. She became silent. Tears still flowed, but the sobs ceased. Her breathing returned to normal.

"So you have found Aredhel's tomb," she said softly.

"She was the King's sister and Prince Maeglin's mother?"

"Yes."

"If that statue looks remotely like her when she was alive, then she was lovely indeed," Tuor declared as he studied the likeness. "I have not yet been told how exactly she died. I have never heard a word uttered about Maeglin's father either. Does he still live? If he is dead, why is he not buried with his wife?"

"Because his bones are scattered amongst the rocks of the Caragdur," Idril answered. "He put Aredhel here and intended the same for his own son. He was truly a monster. It is said that he was Telerian and even distant kin to Thingol, but the little children here are being told that he had Orc blood in his veins. If only it was true, he would have some excuse. It might also explain other things."

She told him the tale of Aredhel and Eöl. Once she was through, Tuor was enlightened. He thought he understood why Maeglin was so bitter and why Idril was so silent and sad. It also made sense to him that she might be angry at her cousin. Perhaps she resented him for Aredhel's death. Idril guessed his thoughts and allowed him to believe it. She kept the darker secret to herself.

"So you come here by yourself often?"

"I do. It comforts me somehow, and it is the closest I will ever be to my aunt or my mother until they return in some new form."

"I came inside out of curiosity, knowing I would at least find something of beauty in here. I was not wrong. I found you."

Even though Tuor felt his words were awkward to say the least, they made Idril well with happiness and she squeezed his hand. She looked up into Aredhel's likeness and recalled her words that someday Idril would experience all the happiness of the world. Did she have a moment of foresight? Was it from Aredhel that she had received the gift of Sight only amplified? She had always wondered where her talent had come from. Her father seemed to lack any foresight at all, and she knew tragically little of her own mother. But Aredhel had accurately stated that she would not find happiness in marriage and that she would never bear a daughter. She had found little mirth in her life with the Dark Elf and she had only one son. She had said that she would never truly give her heart to any Elf. Though he broke her spirit and kept her prisoner most her life, Eöl had never succeeded to win her heart, and she had almost given it to Engner. Could it be the same would be true of her niece?

I do not imagine that any Elf will have me truly either, she thought to herself. But what of a Man?

Tuor and Idril sat in silence together, still clasping hands as Aredhel gazed silently down upon them. Tuor wanted to confess his love then and there, as did she, but the tomb was not the place, and someone would come looking for them soon. Idril was decided, but Tuor was still gripped with some doubt. He might ruin her if he pursued her.

They met again the next eve upon the battlements of Gondolin. Tuor had climbed them to gaze upon the city he had risked such peril to find and come to love so much. Idril had come seeking him. She stood beside him and said nothing. She was content to be in his presence. It soothed her. The day had begun with the sun shining and cloudless, but now a great cloud was rapidly approaching from the west to blanket the sky.

"You look troubled, Tuor," Idril said softly.

"I have little right to be."

"I would be the judge of that."

He turned to her and she was smiling. She looked beautiful when she was neutral or even frowning, but when she smiled she became luminous. The wind picked up and blew her golden hair about. They heard the cry of a sea bird. Tuor glanced at it, distracted for a moment. He found it strange that the gull had come so far inland.

"I cannot stop thinking about you," he said at last.

"Nor I you," she answered.

There was a roll of thunder that seemed deep as the voice of Ulmo. Rain began to fall, smelling suspiciously of salt. Tuor looked into Idril's eyes, gray as the colder waters of the Sea. His own green eyes, green as the warmer, shallow seas, were reflected in hers.

"I love you, Tuor," Idril confessed aloud and felt instant relief.

There was another roll of thunder and Tuor wondered if this was the sign he had been waiting for. Perhaps this was the real purpose behind Ulmo's sending him here. Did the Valar require him to couple with Turgon's daughter? Was his love for Idril simply another part of the Divine Music? He wanted to believe it but did not at the same time. It would finally give him the answers he sought, but he did not like to think that his feelings were merely a convenience for fate. In the end, did it even matter? It was no use denying them.

"I love you, Idril," he declared.

This time she did not hesitate. She flung her arms about him and he kissed her as the rain fell heavily about them. They were soon soaked but they did not care. They pressed against each other for warmth. They kissed until the storm passed by. It was gone as quickly as it had come. The sun penetrated through the clouds.

"You do know what this could mean for you, Princess?" he stopped her for a moment.

"Yes," she seemed resolved. "Do you know what it may mean for you?"

"I find it a little thrilling not knowing," Tuor grinned. "All that matters is that I know I want to be with you as long as I live, and that time is short."

"Then let us not waste time," she grinned back.

Tuor and Idril approached the King with some apprehension, but they clasped each other's hands for strength and resolve. They had decided to announce themselves to him privately and they were not entirely certain how he may react.

"Ah, my golden children," Turgon greeted them with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Father..." Idril struggled.

"We have come to announce that we intend to get married. We ask for your blessing," Tuor said simply.

They braced themselves. Turgon was speechless for a moment. Then he opened his mouth and let out an unmistakable shout of joy. It startled the new couple. Then Turgon embraced them both.

"This is wonderful news!" he exclaimed. "We shall have a wedding such as never been seen before or shall be! We should hold it in the Great Market! There shall be music and dancing..."

He continued on and on with his plans. Tuor and Idril were pleasantly surprised. They had half-expected rage and rejection rather than joy and acceptance. But Tuor had already proven himself to Turgon simply by finding Gondolin. He was Ulmo's Messenger, and Turgon remembered the words Huor had spoken and understood them completely now.

"From you and from me, a new star shall rise."

Besides, Turgon knew he could do nothing to prevent such a coupling from occurring even if he tried. Thingol had done everything in his power to destroy Beren, his daughter's mortal lover. All his plotting merely backfired and he lost his daughter forever instead. Turgon sincerely loved Tuor, and so high was he in his favor that he would not deny him even the hand of his daughter. It was also the first time that when he looked into her eyes, they appeared hopeful and happy instead of aloof and sorrowful. He was grateful that Tuor had inspired that.

The King announced the wedding to the whole city, and the people were jubilant. Weddings were always a matter of import and celebration, but this was to be the wedding of Turgon's only child, their beautiful Princess Idril, to Tuor whom the people had quickly grown to love. They speculated already upon the children the couple might produce. It was rumored that Beren and Lúthien had a son of Three-fold race whom they had named Dior and made Thingol's heir. Half-Elves, it seemed, could choose their own fate. Would Idril's children choose to become heirs to Turgon? What would a Half-Elf look like? They considered it a matter of pride that soon they would be blessed with such a union and unique child. The mingling of Men and Elves would bring color and variety to the kingdom.

Maeglin could not believe the news at first. He had hoped he had threatened Idril enough that she would have stayed away from Tuor. It seemed he had only frightened her, sabotaged himself, and encouraged her more than ever to pursue Tuor. Now there was no chance in heaven or hell that Maeglin could win Idril. Tuor was mortal and would die, but Idril would live on and carry his memory long after he was dust if she had his children to cling to. Most maidens of the Eldar never sought another lover once their husband was dead or bonded with another in such a way. They did not love as mortals loved. They cherished instead their children and looked forward to the day that their mate was reincarnated. Idril had never been one to seek many lovers. She may decide to become mortal herself and age and die to follow Tuor beyond the Sundering Seas as Lúthien had chosen to do. Then she would really be lost forever. Maeglin was enraged, heartbroken, and jealous.

The marriage also threatened his own political power and relationship with the king. Idril may be Turgon's only child of his body, but she had otherwise been a weak candidate for the throne compared to Maeglin. She was female, and though her gender was not an obvious crutch, there had never been a single Queen that ruled solely on her own among the Eldar. Not even in Doriath. Melian the Maia was considered a powerful queen. She guarded the realm with her magic, had shared her wisdom with the people and especially to her husband. But she had married into the role, had never marched in war, and often advised her husband and allowed him to make the final decisions. He did not always listen. Idril had gone many years without involving herself too much politically or even socially at court. She had never expressed very much interest or ambitions about becoming Queen. On the contrary, she was reluctant and afraid to rule in her youth. She had never courted powerful Elf-lords that would prove valuable partners, domineering ones that would probably inevitably become the true power behind the crown, or even insipid minor lords to serve the purpose of a stud to produce heirs. It was not even known yet if Idril could bear heirs.

The Eldar often found it difficult to reproduce. They enjoyed bonding, but almost all of the Eldar were infertile. Most couples only had one child after centuries of hard work. On rare occasions, such as the case of Fëanor and Nerdanel, they might produce seven within a few decades. The usual rule was that the Elf maid was willing, eager, and her courses coincided with the act. Elf women produced a certain finite number of eggs that released when they willed it. The male also had to be willing and eager and produced less seed than human males. Because the chances were so low, they required much more discipline, timing, and care. Sometimes they were overcautious. They waited for the perfect mate, and then waited for long intervals of peace. They considered it careless to have children during times of warfare and crisis. 'Accidental' births almost never happened. Young Elf couples told themselves they had all the time in the world for children. Only royal families really required the assurance of children. They above all others were encouraged to have as many children as possible and to choose among them the most capable heir to the throne.

Maeglin's birth had been unnatural. Aredhel had not become a wife and mother wholly willingly. Eöl had seduced her aggressively with a dangerous mix of drugs and brute force. He used deceit to make her feel safe and to create a platonic bond. He used powerful drugs to make them both fertile and to confuse Aredhel's senses. He used force in the act itself and to keep her prisoner. The Eldar were ever uncomfortable about the subject and too ashamed to admit one of their own could engage in the twisted and tragic crime of rape. They simply explained in their history that Eöl had used 'enchantments' to seduce Aredhel. No more was ever written or discussed. Maeglin wished his father had taught him the secret of such drugs, especially the fertility drugs. It would have made Eöl wealthy indeed if he had made a potion of it and sold it. So many more children would be running through the streets. The Eldar would not have simply diminished in number and therefore weakened. He might have sold it to the Dwarves too but their problem was not infertility. They simply had too many sons and female births were rare. Eöl had guarded the secret jealously. He valued his secrets more than treasures, much like the Dwarves. There was no way he would ever aid the Noldor in anything and he felt betrayed even by his own kin.

Aredhel had come close to discovering the secret, Maeglin suspected, but never fully grasped it. Instead she managed to reverse the effects of whatever it was the Dark Elf inflicted upon her. She was a Huntress, not a healer or as obsessed with plants and herbs as Eöl was, but being a child of Nature she knew a good deal of herbology and made herself sterile. Over time, she could even resist his mind altering poisons too. Maeglin had no proof, but he always suspected that his father had given her small pinches of some mysterious drug to make her more docile. In the end, it was his psychological hold upon her that was far worse. If Aredhel had lived and wed Engner, the one she had truly loved, they would have never had their own children and she may have never fully recovered her old self. She was only a shadow of the strong, bold, confident maiden that once had been.

It was questionable whether or not Maeglin would ever have a family of his own either, which put him at a disadvantage now. Idril had recently become much more involved in politics thanks to Tuor's encouragement. She had quite a voice and was more popular among the small folk. If she produced a child, especially a male child, Maeglin was most likely doomed. He had no children. He had no wife. He had even stopped courting maids. He was liked well enough by the mob, but he was becoming less popular. He had as many enemies at court as he had allies.

The wedding took place upon the eve of spring. It was remembered as a day of great joy to the Golodrim and also to Idril and Tuor. As Turgon had insisted it was held at the Temple of the Gods with lavish ceremony at dusk with a rowdy feast in the great market that night. The ceremony was smooth and solemn. The Golodrim sang hymns as Turgon presented his daughter to her groom. They clasped hands and exchanged vows. As the people sang softly and Turgon made a speech and asked for blessings, Tuor and Idril had eyes only for each other. They smiled and when they were pronounced, they exchanged a long, lingering kiss to the delight of the crowd. The Market was lit with hanging lamps. Every minstrel played as the Golodrim laughed and clapped and danced in circles, rows, and pairs. Each stall was filled with delicious food and wine instead of water filled the fountains for the occasion. One long table was placed in the center for the bride, groom, and most of the royal household.

There were many toasts, japes, tears, demands, gifts, and congratulations. Turgon was the most boisterous of them all and beamed with pride. Engner was as proud as though Idril were his own daughter. Voronwë clapped Tuor upon the back. Everyone was in good spirits save for one person. Maeglin was carrying on badly. He drank more than anyone else. Though he toasted to the bride and groom, his tone was mocking and he did not swallow. When no one was glancing he spit it out. He made cruel jests about Tuor's manhood and what was expected of him in the bedroom. He aimed similar jokes at Idril, pointing out and complimenting the curves of her body. Most laughed and excused him because he was drunk. But there were other drunkards and even some of the most seasoned lost their heads a little. Maeglin had held his liquor well in the past. His own men were embarrassed and apologized for him. Maeglin did not even want to be there, but it would have been highly suspicious if he was the only citizen of Gondolin who was not at the wedding. His hatred and jealousy threatened to explode at any time. His japes became more venomous and tasteless. Engner was watching him carefully.

"A kiss!" someone shouted. "Let us see a kiss!"

"Kiss! Kiss!" soon the entire crowd took up the cry.

Idril blushed and covered her face. Tuor took her hand, his eyes twinkling eagerly.

"Shall we give them what they want?"

"What they want or what you want?" she grinned.

There was a roar of laughter and the couple complied and kissed passionately. There were cheers but the crowd was not satisfied. They wanted to see them dance now. Maeglin could stand no more. He wanted to vomit. He excused himself and apologized to Turgon who simply nodded in response. Everyone could see that he was way too drunk and was doing right by all accounts. No one really noted the Prince as his Moles escorted him away, not even Idril. For now, his shadow was not over her. She was with Tuor, and to him, the warning of Ulmo seemed faint and far off.


	11. The Betrayal

The next year the Golodrim erupted into celebration yet again when Idril gave birth to a son. The newlyweds had wasted no time, not only because of Tuor's mortality, but because both Tuor and Idril inherently sensed that Gondolin's time was short as well. The news elsewhere in the world was grim. Nargothrond had fallen and Doriath had been destroyed from within. Lúthien and Beren's son Dior was trying to restore the Hidden Kingdom, but the famous lovers had disappeared from the face of Arda, and with them went a great deal of hope, especially for the Sindar. The Goldorim were disturbed by such tidings but remained confident that their beloved city would forever be immune to such disasters.

They named their son Earendel. He took after the Noldor and looked very much like his grandfather King Turgon. Even though both his parents had golden hair, his was dark. Idril's eyes were gray, Tuor's green, but their son had eyes of deep blue. He was fair of face and form and had Turgon's laugh. Even as a babe he had a hearty, boisterous laugh. He carried himself with the grace of his mother and she suspected he had inherited some of her foresight. But he was drawn to water as his father was and from his early years was fascinated with his father's tales of Mankind, Ulmo, and the Sea. The first thing he did when he learned to crawl was to crawl straight toward the fountains. Idril was terrified that he would drown until she realized he could swim like a minnow and laughed as he splashed about. After that, the whole family had their own private fountain and swam together.

Turgon loved all members of his family, but Earendel soon became the apple of his eye. He was proud to be a grandsire, pleased that the child looked so much like him, and was convinced he was a child of prophecy. The infant was uncommonly sweet and beautiful and seemed to love Turgon equally. The mere sound of his voice made him laugh. Having an infant around again, Turgon decided, was a blessing. But Earendel was growing fast. Turgon feared if he so much as blinked, the babe would be half-grown. He thought of how he had taken Idril's childhood for granted and felt ashamed.

"I swear the boy doubles in size every week!" Turgon exclaimed when Idril placed him in his lap. "I would very much like to see him more often."

"Very well, milord," Idril said with a smile. "That would be better for everyone. I can catch more sleep and Earendel adores you."

"I would very much like to see more of you as well, Idril," Turgon said with all seriousness. "You and Tuor could move your apartments closer to my own chambers within the palace. Then I could see my family daily, as I ought to."

"That is a sweet gesture," Idril knitted her eyebrows. "But then you would find it impossible to regain the time you had for your work, the city, yourself. If we lived so close, Earendel may wake you in the night with his crying or Tuor and I if we should have disputes. It would cause you undue stress."

"It would be an honor to be part of your life, Idril; the one you go to for advice, for comfort, for companionship. I feel I cheated you and you deserved better."

"How did you cheat me?"

"I could have been a better father. For too long, I was angry with myself for your mother's death. I was even angry at her. A small part of me warned that taking her from Valinor was a mistake...

Maeglin was angry and it was one of those days where his anger consumed him. He took a walk about the palace and considered going down into his forge until he spotted Idril from the balconies. He watched her from afar.

She was playing with her son in the fountains, wearing a simple white dress and was knee deep in water. She was pulling Earendel gently about the waters, dipping him, cooing and laughing as she allowed him to try to float and splash his little arms and feet. The babe howled with laughter and then howled again, but his pitch and tone had changed drastically. He was hungry. There was a team of attendants to aid her. She had accepted them only after her father insisted. She was grateful for their company now that she had come to realize that even the best parents needed help once in a while. In this instance, however, she knew exactly what do to. She had come to recognize the unique cries that a baby made when they needed food or sleep or had wetted. She sat near the edge of the pool and began nursing using a cloth to cover herself and the baby. He was soaking wet and shivering, yet he loved the water so much.

Tuor arrived and kissed his wife lovingly. Then he stepped into the pool with his son, wondering if the babe could somehow sense the presence of Ulmo as he had when he was a young child. If his son had been born with the Sea longing, he may be miserable if he remained in the city for long. Perhaps he would grow up to be the first Mariner King. Perhaps he would be called by Ulmo for some special task as Tuor had been. Instead of being called to wander the waters of the Sea or to slay a dragon, he had been tasked to find the Hidden City to be a simple messenger. And to wed an Elf-Princess. He would never have never guessed such would be his fate and suspected that not even the Valar had known. They knew the Music, but not the Method or the Message of the One. However, as strange as it seemed, it had worked out for Tour and the Sea longing for the moment seemed cured as he splashed playfully at his wife and son.

Maeglin could not watch any more. He decided to venture out to the Echoriath alone so that he could calm his rage and plot some way to regain his former glory. While he was out there he hoped to find a new claim of mithril or some other precious metal. The stone had always sung to him ever since he was a child. He attached no deity to it, but it was a comfort to him nonetheless at times to remain surrounded by the singing stones. The people might speak more positively of him if he brought more wealth into the city. They spoke only of Earendel and the recent announcement Turgon had made: That Idril was the official heir and her son after her. It ruined his chances of becoming King.

Turgon was convinced that Earendel was a Child of Prophecy thanks to Huor's words and that the boy would choose the Twilight of the Elves, not the Doom of Man. He was certain that if the Valar saw this mingling of Races it would strengthen both the Eldar and Mankind and the Valar would see and revoke the Doom of Mandos. He seemed to have forgotten Maeglin. He had become much closer to Idril.

She should be mine, Maeglin thought to himself. It should be my own babe at her breast. Her claim should be mine. Is it not just as conceivable that my son would be a child of destiny? A child born of pure blood rather than mixed? A child whose father would at least live long enough to see the fruit of his seed grow and ripen? Oh, Idril, what do you see in that mortal?

He found it just as maddening to watch Idril kiss and cuddle her baby as it was to witness passionate kisses between Tuor and Idril. If he had been allowed one moment alone with the brat, Maeglin would have strangled him in his crib. He laughed at the irony when Tuor named Maeglin the babe's godfather. He was so incredibly oblivious to Maeglin's true feelings and so eager to befriend his wife's kinsman he had announced it after Turgon pronounced the child an heir. A quick glance at Idril revealed that she was not pleased with the impulsive decision, though her expression was so subtle only his sharp glance caught it. Maeglin could not refuse the damnable honor, and so he held the child in his arms and made sure to shower him with the proper gifts.

Perhaps he could take advantage of Tuor's blind trust. His father Eöl had taught him of poisons and the less obvious ways to use them. He had vowed to himself once that he would never stoop so low, but the idea proved more and more tempting every day. He had to be very careful that the poison could not be traced back to him. It was not so strange for mortals to grow ill and die with little to no explanation. It was not uncommon for Elf-children to fall ill and perish either. He wondered if he could poison a cloak and give it to Tuor or seek some plague infested blanket to give to Earendel. He could even find a way to drug Idril, not to harm her, but to destroy her child. The ill effects of the drug would pass into her breast milk and Earendel would suck whatever poison it contained, sparing Idril and condemning the child. With both husband and son dead, even the strongest of mind and body could crack. Idril would be vulnerable and might seek warmth and comfort from anywhere...

Suddenly an arrow screeched through the air. Maeglin caught it in his sword arm. He let out a cry of rage, too shocked to even feel pain. It was then that Orcs crawled out from between stones where they had been hiding. Maeglin scowled and drew his sword with his uninjured arm, wishing he had trained more often with it. It felt clumsy and awkward and his swordplay suffered greatly from the handicap. He counted the Orcs and observed their gear. There were three score and armed lightly for stealth, but what little they had would prove affective. They were much smarter and more skilled than the average Orc. They were dangerously close to Gondolin and had not been spotted and killed by the Eagles.

Maeglin knew he had little chance, but he was no coward. He fought bravely and managed to kill one of them and injured several others before he was overwhelmed. He cursed himself for wandering so far alone. For once, his paranoia and assassins would have served him well. The Orcs tied his hands and legs and argued furiously about what to do with him. They stripped him of whatever valuables he had. Then they inspected him and saw that he was muscular and strong. He might make a good thrall. Others demanded to avenge those he had slaughtered. These Orcs were scouts, not slavers. Dragging along a captive would slow them down or blow their cover. Unless the prisoner proved more valuable than they imagined, they may have no choice but to kill him.

Maeglin listened to their debating and knew if he allowed them, he would be slain sooner or later. He refused to lose control. He refused to be a victim. Perhaps he could manipulate them. He was determined to outsmart the Orcs.

"Know you not that I am Maeglin nephew to Turgon?" he said.

"What is that to us?" they growled in response.

Maeglin laughed, "Do you Orcs know nothing of your enemies? I am Prince of the Hidden City!"

"You are a liar trying to save your own skin!"

"Oh, am I?"

"The Hidden City is a place made up by you fairies to give hope to the weak and to stir rebellion in thralls."

"Is it?"

Maeglin began to describe the city, giving them no details that would betray its secrets but prove that he at least had extensive knowledge. He described the great fountains, some of which fired into the air over thirty feet. He described the walls of polished white stone and gave their dimensions and their thickness. He boasted of the uniforms the soldiers wore and of Turgon's rod and sword. He described the beauty of Idril Celebrindal and the other maidens of Gondolin. As the Orcs listened, they became envious and more and more angry. He made the city sound so glorious and fair. They thought of Angband, their Master's city that sounded pale in comparison. They did not want to believe him. Surely there was no greater city than their own. Their captive was exaggerating and spinning webs of lies. They drew a cruel looking axe.

"Spill my blood and it will cost you dearly!" Maeglin cried. "You fools!"

"So long as you are dead and this meeting unheard of, it will cost us nothing."

"Take me to Morgoth then," Maeglin blurted out. "Let him decide if I speak the truth!"

"Do you have a death wish, Elf?"

The Orcs were perplexed. None of their captives had ever requested to be brought before Morgoth, and the Orcs refused to mention their Master by any name but only by title.

"If I had a death wish, ape, I would have let you use that axe. You will take me to your Master and you will treat me according to my station. No doubt Morgoth will reward you. In the meantime, I will remember every insult, every cut and bruise. I will remember all! You would be wise to treat me well. If nothing else, you will gain a talented smith. The sword I carry and that you took was made by my father. The armor I was wearing is my own handiwork. Now let us speedily be on our way. Cut the ropes about my ankles and I shall keep a better pace than the lot of you."

"You make many demands, Elf. Too many. No doubt you would set a fast pace as you try to run off!" the Orc spat in his face. "Until you prove you are worthy to breathe our air, you'll get no special treatment!"

Maeglin was relieved that for the moment he was alive, but a new dread was in his heart now. What had he been thinking when he asked to see Morgoth! He felt ashamed that he had even described the irrelevant details of Gondolin, the sorts of things his mother had told him as they sat before the fire long ago in the shadows of Nan Elmoth. He should have let the Orcs use their axe. He had only delayed his fate and endangered the last of the Hidden Kingdoms and all those he loved. Simply by capturing him the Enemy now knew that they were closer than ever before to finally discovering the city itself.

Was he a coward? No, he told himself. He had betrayed nothing yet. There may be an opportunity to escape upon the road. But such a chance never came. The Orcs kept him bound and guarded at all times. They did not return his clothing or equipment and never rested. It grew more overcast as they drew closer to Angband. His captors need not worry about the sun anymore. Maeglin watched the sky, hoping that the Eagles would come to his rescue. But Thorondor and his ilk must have flown south for the season. Maeglin's last hope was crushed and his anger replaced it. He had always felt that the Golodrim relied too heavily upon the feathered race.

By the time they reached Angband, Maeglin's feet were cut up and bruised as were his wrists and ankles from the ropes. He was shivering and ill from the long exposure to the elements with no food or water. He was thoroughly humiliated and terrified. He was dragged through the Thrall Vaults before he was brought before the Iron Throne in case he was not frightened enough. Most of the Elves were worked so hard that they had aged like mortals and were mercilessly beaten if they so much as paused. The maidens were kept elsewhere and were used not as thralls of labor but instead as breeding mares to keep the Orc population replenished. Maeglin was one of the first to learn that terrible secret.

Morgoth was a horror to behold. He was gigantic in stature and covered head to toe in cruel iron armor. It was hard to believe that he had once been fair. When he chose to become part of the Marred World, he was forced to take a physical form and chose to be terrifying. He still wore the Iron Crown but had placed a diamond in the empty socket where the third Silmaril had once been before it was stolen by Beren and Lúthien. He covered his face as well save for his deadly eyes. Only two people upon the earth had proven they could withstand his piercing gaze: Lúthien and Húrin.

"I have been told that this sniveling worm wishes to sell out the secrets of the last remaining Hidden Kingdom for his life!" Morgoth sneered. "Is it so?"

Maeglin knew what his fate would be if he refused to break his silence. He would be tortured by the Balrogs to the point of death then slain or put with the other miserable thralls. He could not let that happen.

"Oh, Melkor Master of Arda, you have only to command me, and I shall do as you command. I am no enemy of yours, but your servant."

"Thou art the son of Aredhel and nephew of King Turgon and a traitor and rebel by birth!"

"There are some among the Eldar that worship you in secret and live amongst the others in fear. I am not Noldoli, but Telerian through my father Eöl the Dark Elf. When my mother brought me to the Hidden City, it was to convert me from his ways. After Turgon had him executed when he rightfully pursued us, I had no choice but to remain and to live as one of them or suffer the same fate. I am my father's son still."

His words were twisted and vile. He knew it was so even as he said them, but something possessed and bewitched him. His will to survive had taken control. His loyalty to Turgon and Gondolin was forgotten. He was able to claim kinship to the father he had always hated and to praise and flatter Morgoth with minimal effort. A small voice inside him screamed against it. He should rather curse the Dark Lord and keep his lips sealed forever. He should endure his torment and die with honor. But the voice was weak and faltering by the moment.

Morgoth was suspicious. The last time he allowed himself to be seduced by flattery and charm, he had lost a Silmaril and the fairest of all maidens had slipped from his grasp. He was impressed that Maeglin used his ancient name Melkor and that the Elf seemed more than willing to cooperate. So eager was he to destroy the last true stronghold of the Elves that he was feeling generous enough to spare Maeglin from torture and more, especially after Maeglin's pronouncement:

"I know the secrets of Gondolin. I will tell you all, for it profits the both of us should Turgon fall and the Noldor set straight for good. I ask for so little, and you gain so much. If my bonds were cut, I could start drawing maps."

Morgoth was so overjoyed that he had Maeglin's bonds removed. He was robed in riches and given food, wine, and treatment for his wounds. Maeglin drew detailed maps, described the numbers of the armies. He told of the weapons, the names of generals and other leaders and everything else the Dark Lord wanted to know.

"Thou hast done well, Elf," Morgoth said, "and for this shall be spared."

Maeglin was relieved, but he realized at once that was not enough. Now that he had truly betrayed Gondolin, nothing else mattered. He might as well request whatever he desired.

"I could remain here and labor as a miserable thrall. I could craft you poisons and weapons and armor, or I could return to Gondolin and act as your spy and infiltrator. I am close to the King," he explained. "To be frank, Turgon is a fool. He would never suspect me. I can prepare the city for you, spread fear and doubt, even shed blood if need be. I would ask only for what I deem reasonable as a reward."

"What reward wouldst thou require?" Morgoth decided to humor him.

"Lordship of Gondolin upon Turgon's death or capture. The city shall be ruled in your name, but not obliterated off the face of the map. I plan to build it anew and make it greater than it was before."

"What else?"

Maeglin took a long draught of wine before he answered, "You may slay or enslave any maiden of Gondolin save one. That would be Idril Celebrindal daughter of Turgon. No harm shall befall her. Should she be captured, she is to be delivered to me promptly."

A quick look into Maeglin's eyes revealed to Morgoth his thoughts and the Dark Lord slowly smiled and his eyes danced, "Thine own cousin? How very... interesting. Anything else?"

Maeglin took another drink, "Aye. There is the matter of her son and husband. I want them destroyed."

Morgoth laughed maniacally and said, "It shall be so! Thou shalt prepare the way for my armies and in return thou shalt rule it as a fiefdom of Angband. Tuor and Earendel shall be burned and Princess Idril will be delivered to thy arms."

Maeglin quivered at the thought. Hatred for Tuor and desire for Idril had led him all the easier to his treachery. The small voice that had held him back was gone now.

"Return to the Hidden City now, Elf," Morgoth said. "Act as though nothing has happened and continue to report every year to one of my scouts. Thou shalt serve me still by convincing Turgon that all is well and the threat is gone. Gather others of like mind. Put weaknesses in the walls and in the people wherever thou canst and prepare the way for the Fall of Gondolin. I hope that thou can keep up pretenses."

"Believe me, I have worn a mask and hid my true self all of my life."

"Know this," Morgoth's tone became menacing. "Should thou fail to report or if the city is somehow forewarned, I shall know of it. Then thou shall be sought out and given to my Balrogs to be tortured daily for the rest of eternity! There is nothing worse than a turn cloak that double crosses his Master."

"You have no need for such threats, my lord," Maeglin answered. "You have given me more than I was ever promised from anyone else. I am yours."

Morgoth pierced him with his eyes and read his heart to remove all doubt of his loyalty. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that what Maeglin claimed was true. He had given his heart and soul to Morgoth. He willingly served Morgoth now and forever.

"I was told that thou were mining for ores alone in the mountains when captured. So that your long absence may be explained, I give thee these riches."

A sack of mithril, gold, and other precious ores was cast at Maeglin's feet. It was near bursting.

"My Master is indeed generous," Maeglin grinned.

"Indeed. Is there anything else before I send thee on thy way?"

"Oh yes!" Maeglin remembered suddenly. "I would like the same Orcs brought to me that dragged me here."

The Orcs entered, no doubt expecting some sort of reward. Maeglin drew his sword and glowered at them.

"Do you remember that I told you I was a valuable prisoner and you all laughed and did not believe me? Well, I serve the Master now. You will recall as well that I would count every grievance of mine against you? Well, I remember every bruise and fall. When I asked for water, you merely spat in my face. When I asked for food, I was kicked repeatedly in the stomach to make the pains of hunger worse. I asked for rest, I was licked with the whip."

As he spoke the Orcs began to whimper and tremble. They cried out to Morgoth for mercy. The Dark Lord merely watched with mild interest. Maeglin struck them down, butchering them until their black blood pooled upon the stone and nothing moved.

"Shall I give thee Men to escort thee back to Gondolin?" Morgoth offered.

"No," Maeglin replied. "I much prefer the company of Orcs."

Maeglin returned to Gondolin speedily with his small fortune and presented it to Turgon and spared much to the city itself. He also began to walk about the city with a smiling face and laughed easily. He snapped at his servants less and became pleasant even to Tuor.

At Council several days after his absence, Maeglin, for the first time, took a seat beside Tuor and spoke softly to him.

"How is my godson?" he asked.

"He kept us awake last night with a cough," Tuor answered, pleasantly surprised. "Idril and I feared it was the whooping cough, but he seems to have fully recovered. The healers could find nothing wrong this morning. We were quite relieved."

"That is good to hear," Maeglin said. "Tis the season for such coughing. Perhaps there was simply something in the air that did not agree with the child. I would inform the servants to wash his blankets and clothes well and keep his nursery as free of dust as possible. They say that silver has purifying qualities. Give the boy this rattle. It is merely coated in silver, but perhaps that will be enough. I would give him a ring or necklace if he were older. For now, let this gift from his Uncle suffice."

He handed Tuor the rattle. It was a very simple toy but coated in silver, just as he described, and still light enough for an infant to shake and play with.

"Thank you, my lord. It is a generous gift."

Maeglin's usual gifts for Earendel were blankets, sweets, and wooden caricatures, never anything as valuable as this rattle. Regardless of whether or not the old wives tale was true about the silver, Maeglin's concern for the babe's health was touching and seemed genuine.

"I feel that I have never properly apologized for some of the things I have said, Tuor," Maeglin clenched his jaw and grimaced. "Next time you pry yourself from the clutches of your wife and child, allow me to buy you a cup of hot wine to keep away the chill of the season?"

"Aye, I would very much like that, my lord," Tuor smiled. "There is nothing to forgive."

"You can call me by my name, kinsman," Maeglin found it incredibly easy to force his smile this time.

The people marveled that he had learned to curb his prejudice at last and found his new cheer quite refreshing. A few wondered what had happened to him to cause such a turn around. Most credited his new found claim in the mountains that he frequently returned to. The prince hinted that he was working upon another innovation like his father's galvorn or perhaps something stronger still than his previous steel. He felt he had a purpose to his life again and took joy in his work and admitted he had been unsatisfied before. He doted upon his godson in public and called Tuor his brother. King Turgon beamed with pride whenever he looked upon his nephew once more and regretted only that Maeglin had not yet taken a bride of his own. Some of the prince's former lovers wanted to give him a second chance and came calling at his door, but Maeglin did not seem interested in courtship. He was too engrossed in his upcoming masterpiece, he claimed, one that might require a lifetime of energy and work.

Idril found Maeglin's change in behavior highly suspicious. She wondered how he could have stumbled upon and amassed such wealth on his solitary trip, even if the stone had sung to him. He was secretive as always about his work so there was no proof of his so called 'masterpiece'. She caught him gazing at her more often with a predatory grin. Now that Maeglin knew it was only a matter of time before he could finally possess Idril and Gondolin, he was eager, bolder, and more confident in everything he did. It was easier than he thought it would be to play the part Morgoth assigned him.

"Soon," he told himself. "Soon everything I have ever wanted shall be mine."

While he was elated, Idril felt that a shadow had fallen over her heart yet no one else seemed disturbed and that frustrated her all the more.

Tuor and Idril were asleep in their bed. Earendel was in his cradle, sleeping soundly. But Tuor was awakened by the urge to relieve himself, then returned to bed. Now that he was awake he found it hard to doze off and he noticed that his wife was restless. Her sleeping habits had become erratic. She went days without getting a wink and then there were some days where she slept and woke only when Earendel cried and no one else could attend to him. Tonight she was tossing and turning. He realized she must be having a nightmare. He tried to shake her awake gently. As soon as he touched her, she screamed. She was screaming for him and for her son.

"Idril, I am here," he tried to soothe her. "It is all right. It was only a dream!"

She seemed to barely comprehend his words or her surroundings, "Where is our baby?"

Before he could answer she tried to leap from the bed and became entangled in the sheets and blankets. Struggling only entangled her more and she fell to the floor. Tuor rose and aided her out of her predicament and she rushed to Earendel's crib and lifted the babe to her breast. Luckily he had only stirred a little at the sound of his mother's cries and still slept, enjoying the warmth of his mother. Tuor placed his hand upon her shoulder and she sighed.

"I pray that his dreams are pleasant."

"Idril, what happened? Look at me."

He tried to look into her eyes but she kept her back to him. She feared if he saw the tears in her eyes she would break down sobbing. As long as no one saw them, they could not be seen as weakness. As long as no one saw, they did not exist. Tuor did not need to see. He could hear the distress in her voice and knew that when she was being evasive she was either on the verge of crying or had already begun.

"It must have been a terrible dream indeed to have done this to you," he said.

Idril hesitated. If she told him even a little, she would be forced to tell him all, no doubt. She placed Earendel back into his crib and began to explain, keeping her eyes low. She could not bear to look at Tuor. She had been hiding her feelings from her husband for too long now.

"You know of my thoughts of Maeglin, but you do not understand them. Well, in my nightmare, we stood together with Earendel upon the Caragdur. It is a cursed place that I would never be in waking life. Our only means of escape was blocked. It was there that Maeglin came upon us with his smiling face. He built a large and terrible furnace and the flames were scorching hot. The smoke and terrible heat overwhelmed us, but it did not harm Maeglin. He had full control of it. Bonds appeared upon my limbs and the smoke engulfed us all. Then Maeglin snatched up Earendel, our babe, and threw him inside the furnace. He just precariously tossed him into the flames! Then he shoved you in next as I stood witness to all this, completely helpless. Maeglin laughed, and even though that was the moment I awoke, I sensed that afterward he would have burned me alive too. For sorrow over the loss of you and that child, I would not have resisted."

Tuor was so disturbed that for a while he was speechless. "You fear Maeglin needlessly. He has never harmed us. He is family!"

"Needlessly!" now Idril was angry. "He is dangerous! He has wished you dead since first you came here. He hates our son and he will never grant me peace. He haunts my dreams. This is not the first time I have dreamed of him putting his hands upon me or hurting those I love. He even haunts my thoughts. He wants to rule Gondolin, the rest of the world, and he wants me."

"What do you mean he wants you? What do you mean he haunts you?"

Idril let out a strangled cry of rage and merely glared at Tuor. She loved this man with all her heart but sometimes she wished he was more observant. He was no more dense than anyone else in the city had ever been. She glared until slowly, painfully, Tuor began to comprehend.

"Maeglin wants you... But he is your own cousin!" Tuor was shocked and revolted. "How could he possibly have such feelings for you?"

"I have told you many times that he is twisted. In the name of Varda and Nienna, have you never noticed the looks he gives me or how I have ever reacted when he so much as brushed his hand upon mine?"

Tuor let out an anguished cry. Suddenly he remembered every instance Maeglin had harassed his wife. He remembered his japes and crude words at their wedding and the countless times he had witnessed Maeglin attempting to put his arms about Idril or to embrace her in friendly greeting, or take her hand, or rest his head upon her shoulder or breast, or plant a kiss upon her hair, cheek, or even the mouth, and how each time Idril had shaken him off or ignored him or turned away. What had he not been around to witness? How could he have dismissed the things he had seen or interpreted them any other way? If anyone should have noticed, it should have been him.

"I have been so blind!" Tuor said in despair. "My love, I have been such a fool..."

Idril raised her hand to silence him. It was certainly too late for useless apologies. Even if Tuor had noticed, it would have only made things worse. Tuor could not act against it, and Maeglin would have sensed Tuor's indignation and gained more pleasure in pursing Idril in what small ways he could.

"He has always been a subtle creature and for so long could do no wrong in the eyes of the people. That has changed little since then, and my father has not changed his opinion at all! He never reveals his true feelings, for they are always twisted. I hoped he would realize that his desire for me was some perverse thought that manifested in him when we lost Aredhel. I am enough like my Aunt that he may have seen some of what he lost in me. But I know now that it is not that simple. I felt uncomfortable the moment I saw him, hours before her death. If it was a madness brought on by grief, it would have passed by now. It never will."

"We must go to the king with this!"

"And say what?" Idril snickered. "That Maeglin would plot against you and wed me himself? He would not believe it and Maeglin would deny it. There is no evidence of anything I have told you. Lately Maeglin has become a hero to the people again and is back in my father's good graces. He never truly fell from his good graces anyway. We would only hurt ourselves."

"Surely if the two people he loves most cannot sway the king, what will? You and Turgon have been the ideal father and daughter these days. I thought he would never question you any more than he would question his nephew. He would never punish you for voicing your concerns."

"He does love you, Tuor, but he never heeded your warnings about Ulmo any more than he has ever heeded any of mine. I have gained my father's love and trust but I do not think it wise to test that and force him to choose between me and Maeglin. It would not be fair even if I was not almost certain he would choose Maeglin every time."

"Then what would you have me do?"

Idril thought upon that for a moment and replied, "We must prepare ourselves, not only against Maeglin, but whatever threat there is. Morgoth is the greater danger. I merely fear what Maeglin may do in the chaos created by the Dark Lord or that he will prey upon whatever instability there is in Gondolin to wrest power for himself and lead Gondolin to ruin when he becomes king. I will do whatever is in my power to prevent that. I advise then that you do what you have always done. Protect and serve my father and protect and love our son. But there is more we can do, and not just for ourselves. There are other little children in Gondolin and all the rest of the small folk to think of. Therefore, I suggest that you gather men about you that love you best and Maeglin the least. Among them should be a skilled architect. With his help, we shall build a secret tunnel that leads out of Gondolin. We shall name it the Children's Tunnel and it shall serve the people that they may be spared during the last moments before Gondolin falls. But its saving grace must be that it is kept secret until that time comes. Only those involved in its making should know. We may have little warning before the Enemy storms our gates, but it may be enough time to save many lives. Gondolin is impregnable, but it is also inescapable. The tunnel will give the defenseless ones a chance."

"Turgon-"

"Must not know!" Idril interrupted. "The fewer that know, the safer we will all be. I do not like keeping secrets any more than you do, especially from those that I love. It is also necessary to have your own Royal Guard as kinsman of the king. I shall get my father's favor to that. We currently have more servants than we should ever need. Surely he can spare guards."

Tuor groaned, "I do not want armed guards about me wherever I go. Do you not think that you might be reacting excessively?"

"Have you forgotten the words of Ulmo, Chosen One?" Idril's words dripped with sarcasm.

She sighed, realizing that she had taken undue offense. The two exchanged meaningful glances and apologized without words.

"Very well, Idril," Tuor conceded. "But such a tunnel may take years to dig."

"Let us hope that we have that much time then. And another thing, Maeglin has spies everywhere, but he can read much all on his own. I have always had to guard myself well so that he cannot sense my thoughts or feelings. It is as though I have a cloak upon my mind while others leave themselves bare. You are easy to read, Tuor. It is one of the reasons I love you, but such honesty and openness can be deadly. If you cannot cloak yourself as I do, not only will Maeglin be able to sense that you are hiding something and that you know as I do about his character, so will my father. My father will be hurt and demand we stop our work and complain that all we know of Maeglin is a mere misunderstanding. Maeglin will act against you and uncover whatever it is you are hiding. If you brim with anger whenever he comes near, he will return the hostility."

"I do not have your strength of will, Idril. I am but a mortal man."

"That has naught to do with it. You are of the House of Hador and now a prince in your own right two times over. You were enslaved once, but you did not allow the Easterlings to break you. You have strength of will, Tuor; you simply do not know how to use it to guard yourself. I can teach you. All you need is self-control and the ability to clear your mind."

"Will I be able to read others and foresee events as you can?"

"That is another matter that cannot be taught. I do not know rightly how I do it myself."

Earendel awoke and began to wail. Tuor smiled and kissed his wife.

"Sleep. I shall stay awake with him tonight."

Idril kissed him back and lay down to sleep, resting much easier now that she had finally confessed all to Tuor and that something was going to be done, even if they could not openly act against Maeglin and could not anticipate when Morgoth would strike. But Tuor stood vigilantly by her side and his son long after both fell asleep. He was angry and filled with doubt. He knew he would have to be more mindful of Maeglin now and he would have to choose his allies carefully. He once thought he could trust everyone in Gondolin. He would have liked to remain blissfully unaware, but he needed to protect his wife and child. But he also thought of Turgon. He began to feel a wedge growing between them that had never been there before. He wondered how much more he would be forced to hide from his king.

Tuor began to gather his closest friends in the city as soon as dawn broke and Idril spoke to her father about a guard for Tuor. She did not even get a chance to finish her sentence. Turgon immediately assigned soldiers to the House of the Swans. They were excellent swordsmen and each swore a personal vow to protect the next generation of the Royal Family. They had their own uniforms, shields, and distinct helms crested with swan wings. The King also gave them larger apartments within the palace closer to his own and kept his promise about visiting his grandson every day.

Idril utilized the bodyguards well. She made certain at least two were with her husband and son at almost all times. She had them test their food. Her greatest fear was that Maeglin would poison them, especially since Eöl had been so fond of poisons. But there was the possibility that that he might ambush them himself or send one of the poor fools he had corrupted to assassinate them. Tuor hated the unwanted company at first, but he agreed so that he could please his wife. As time passed, he became genuine friends with his men.

Voronwë was still his most trusted confidant, but there were many others that answered the call to aid Tuor. They consisted of about a dozen hardy Elves that were of mostly humble origin. Some of them were of the House of Swan and others included the smith Tuor turned to for repairs, their personal healer, and the rest included Engner and his workers. Naturally, Engner was essential to the whole project. Throughout his life he had studied Maeglin's movements and could identify the prince's allies and pinned those he was manipulating. There was much still he did not know. Maeglin by nature was scrupulous and calculating. It was his lackey Salagant that was not. Engner was also the main architect and took charge of the tunneling project. He ordered that the tunneling be done at night under cover of darkness and dug with small teams that would spend the night digging. These teams would be alternated as much as possible. The workers were sworn to secrecy and to Tuor's knowledge, the tunneling remained secret even from Maeglin's most observant moles.

Tuor was impressed with Engner's work. Despite such limitations and such uncertainty of the future, the tunnel was making fair progress. It would still take years until the tunnel reached into the plains, but Engner seemed as driven as Idril to finish as soon as possible without being exposed.

"You and my wife have always been rather close," Tuor said to him. "You were the lover of Lady Aredhel once and are staunchly loyal to King Turgon. So tell me: Why are you so devoted to all the members of the Royal Family save the one? What made you so suspicious of Maeglin?"

"I tried to love Maeglin, if only for Aredhel's sake," Engner answered slowly. "He is...uncanny. The moment I saw him I was struck by how much he resembled his mother, but something warned me that if even a small trace of his father was passed into him, he might be dangerous. I have watched him and have been disturbed by what I have been able to unravel about his past and his deeds within the city itself. I am sure by now you have come to discover some of it yourself."

"Aye," Tuor sighed. "I almost wish that I were oblivious."

Engner gave him a hard look, then softened and placed a hand upon his shoulder. "You must not allow Idril to suffer as Aredhel suffered. Promise me that you will do everything in your power to protect her. You may even be forced to fight Maeglin or break your oaths to Turgon."

"I pray it never comes to that!" Tuor was horrified at the thought.

"I failed to protect Aredhel from Eöl. Do not forget your boy either. Maeglin only profits if harm should befall him."

Tuor took Engner's words to heart, but he felt uneasy. Tuor was not so certain he could betray his liege lord. Even if Turgon took Maeglin's side and was clearly in the wrong, Tuor had sworn an oath and he had always kept his word. When Gondolin was attacked, he would fight at the king's side to defend it, even if it proved to be a lost cause. He loved his wife and son and had no desire for self-annihilation, but he loved Turgon too and his sense of duty was powerful. He anguished every day enough because they were willfully keeping Turgon ignorant.


	12. The Fall

Though Idril's terror seemed to increase with every year, the reach of the Enemy seemed to wane. There were less reports of Orc activity, and the numbers continued to decrease. The Eagles saw no Wargs, crows, or any other winged or four legged scouts. Even the weather grew more pleasant. The summers became longer and the winters shorter. The harvests were more bountiful. Ever since the future queen's wedding and the birth of Earendel, and because Gondolin seemed to be experiencing a sort of golden age, there was an explosion in weddings and births among the people. Turgon cut security by half so that the soldiers could spend every waking moment they had with their new families.

Earendel grew speedily from an infant into a child, knowing nothing of the Shadow or of Maeglin's malice. He had every comfort available to him but was not spoiled. He loved his family and all his household and spent many hours at play with the other children, though they all grew at a much slower rate than he because he was Half-Elf. Tuor and Idril wanted to wait for Earendel to reach maturity before they explained to him what his fate would be, partly because they did not quite know themselves what his future may have in store for him. They tried their best to keep his childhood as normal as possible despite how different he was. The rest of the city treated him no differently either. The boy could not fail to notice he was more developed than his peers, but he was told that he was just growing up faster and it was no cause for alarm. He never outgrew his fascination with water and studied ships with Voronwë from an early age. He was a good swimmer and dreamed of sailing the Sea. He seemed far more interested in becoming a mariner or a scholar than a warlord, minstrel, politician, farmer, or even a smith. He kept a rather sweet disposition and easy temperament and his beauty was growing. He got along with everyone and was even fond of his 'Uncle Maeglin.' His only complaint was that his mother was over protective at times.

Idril tried hard to keep her defenses up in Maeglin's presence and taught Tuor to do the same as best as she could. It was a good thing. At times Tuor felt a stirring of murderous intent toward the prince whenever he sported his phony smiles or spoke of his wife and son. He did not stint at the idea of having to fight or even kill Maeglin. He noted every devious glance the prince cast at his wife now and felt his blood boil every time. He wanted to dispose of every gift he had ever given to Earendel. He could not let on that he suspected anything and Maeglin continued to pursue a false friendship that Tuor accepted coolly. Idril's training helped curb his temper as well as served to keep Maeglin from sensing that Tuor knew his game. Idril kept up her defenses in Maeglin's presence as well. She greeted him dutifully at court and social events. She even acted sisterly so that he would not suspect anything and in hope she could please him in what small ways she could.

Sometimes Idril still pitied Maeglin. She could never forget that they were indeed kin and loved both Turgon and Aredhel. Deep within Maeglin's dark heart there once had been pure light and sincere love for her. Perhaps, there was still love there and not just dangerous obsession turned violent and demanding. Perhaps all he truly wanted from her were kind, soft spoken words and a chaste kiss every once in a little while. Perhaps his feelings had become confused and muddled and she overreacted and had withdrawn too quickly and for far too long from him. Maybe she was to blame that he became starved and convinced he needed more from her. Perhaps there was time for him to change. Certainly now that she had a child of her own he would lose interest. She was no longer a maiden and was happy in her married life.

Of course she was trying to fool herself again and she knew it. Aredhel had once fallen into the same sort of trap trying to justify Eöl's abuse. She thought it was some sort of divine punishment for taking her home and family for granted, and for giving so many of her suitors false hope. Then she decided it was her lot as a mother. Then she even convinced herself she could learn to love the beast and that he would change for the better and her suffering would be worthwhile. Idril could not repeat that mistake. Pity was enough for Maeglin. She must not dare to spare him any of her love.

It was fast approaching Earendel's seventh year. The Golodrim were convinced that the Enemy was exhausted from the Great Battles that had come before or that Morgoth had simply dismissed the tales of Gondolin as mere fantasy. In truth, there was no need of scouts or Orc mischief, nor had Morgoth dismissed Gondolin. He had Maeglin to inform him of all that occurred. In the meantime the Enemy was using all of their resources and manpower to build an army such as had never been before. Maeglin had the fear of Morgoth in his heart, a fear that all escaped thralls and double agents shared. He had looked into the eyes of the Dark Lord and seen more than enough of the Thrall Vaults to haunt him forever. Each year, he slipped from Gondolin to mine the mountains. It was in these mines that he met with the Messenger.

This year Maeglin entered the mine with his usual mix of emotions. The Messenger had no name and spoke with a whispering voice. Morgoth had once used the sorceress of Thurignwethil for such a purpose, but Lúthien had destroyed her and even driven Sauron into exile. Not even his own Master could find any trace of his second in command. This Messenger must be some sort of sorcerer of the same race but less power. He wore a cloak and hood that he refused to remove. In truth he was once a former Maia of Lorien, the Vala of dreams and wisdom. Unlike his predecessors and his Master, he was of the philosophy that nothingness and mystery were far more effective than a terrifying form. If Maeglin had been daring and foolhardy enough to remove his cloak, only shadow would be there beneath the rags. He had never chosen a true form before or after he left Valinor and followed Melkor to Arda.

"Greetings, turn-cloak," he said in salutation.

Maeglin was annoyed at that but ignored the insult, "Let us get down to business, shall we?"

"Indeed," the Messenger could sense his unease anyway and was thoroughly amused. "You should be thrilled to know that this shall be your last report."

"What do you mean?" Maeglin could not hide his fear and wondered for a moment if he was about to become the betrayer betrayed.

"The Dark Lord is prepared to launch an attack very soon. He trusts that all has gone according to plan on your end?"

"Yes," Maeglin assured him. "I have Turgon completely hoodwinked. He suspects nothing and the people continue to revel and forget that there is even a world outside their walls. The numbers of the city guard have never been lower or more lax than ever. How soon will the siege begin?"

"You know better than to ask that. We cannot risk giving you the exact date, Elf."

"Am I still not trusted even now?" Maeglin spat in anger. "I have proven my loyalty and all but delivered a sure victory into Morgoth's hands!"

"It is enough that you know it will be soon. Now unless you have something more to report...?"

"If this is truly the last time I will have contact with Morgoth until his terrible horde engulfs the city, I need insurance. How can I possibly be certain that Idril will be brought to me unharmed and that my own life will not be at stake when the time comes?"

The Messenger handed him a large black iron coin. It was heavy and dense with demonic engraving. "Display this token should you encounter anyone of ours that threatens you. When they see it, they will know that you are under the protection of the Dark Lord himself and all those that are with you. You can even command them to do your bidding."

Maeglin took it and tucked it out of sight. "And Idril?"

"I would suggest you take her under your wing sooner rather than later."

Maeglin was still not satisfied but he knew there was nothing more he could possibly ask for. He hated that everything was now completely out of his hands.

"Earendel, come back here!" Idril shouted after her son.

"What is that building? I have never seen it before!"

"That is not a place for children, now come back here!"

Despite the fact that anger was beginning to creep into his mother's voice, Earendel slipped inside the tomb. She found him sitting in Maeglin's lap, and her heart sank.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Paying my mother a visit when this clumsy rascal stumbled and almost fell atop her sarcophagus," Maeglin answered, bouncing the child on his knee as he giggled.

"What is a sarcophagus?" Earendel asked. "Where is your mother? Why is this house so small and gloomy? Is it a little temple of some kind? Is the statue there of Varda?"

"This is not a temple. It is my mother's tomb. The statue is an image of her while she lies inside the sarcophagus, the stone box."

"The Lady Aredhel lies in eternal slumber, little one," Idril rushed to explain. "Tombs are where people go when they sleep the final sleep."

She knew he was much too young to understand these things, even for a human child. Most Eldar in Gondolin had managed to avoid the heavy subject of death all their lives. Aredhel's was the only tomb in the city. Those that died beyond the walls were buried very near wherever they fell which was usually a mass grave on the field or they were burned or laid out under cairns. She was more nervous that the three of them were alone in this tomb. Her guards had not kept too close and would not dare enter this most sacred place unless there was clear sign of danger. There was no immediate danger, but Maeglin was holding her son. That was enough to make her hair stand on end.

"Final sleep? If we knock on the big stone box will we wake her?"

Maeglin laughed dryly. "Would that we could. Final sleep means-"

"Her body is sleeping, but her spirit is elsewhere. Her spirit is in the Halls of Mandos. It can never return to this body but perhaps another. Eldar have that opportunity."

"What of father's kin? Men?"

"We do not know where they go."

"Do not know?"

"They do not return in the same form or go to the place Eldar go. That alone is known."

"Where will I go for my sleep?"

"I do not know. Perhaps you will have the choice given to you when you are older."

"But does that mean you and Ada and I will not sleep in the same place?"

"Earendel," Maeglin spoke before Idril could answer, "You are taxing your mother with such questions. Go find your soldier friends. I would like a word with your mother."

"Yes, Uncle."

The boy leaped down from his knee and ran out of the tomb. Idril was petrified. She had not been alone with Maeglin since the last incident in this very place. That single moment had haunted her for years. She wanted to bolt but Maeglin rose and pulled her into a sudden embrace.

"Oh, Idril!" he sighed in her ear. "I fear for Gondolin. I fear for the little ones. I fear for your son."

She jerked away and said, "Is that supposed to be some sort of cruel jape?"

"Coz, you hurt me. I am merely sharing my fears with you. Have you not also had a sense of foreboding?"

"You should speak to the king about such things. At court you have previously stated the city safer than ever."

"I deceive myself and others so that I do not cause unnecessary alarm. Such fear can drive the meek mad."

"Do not characterize it as fear or hysteria but as reasonable caution instead. Regardless, I do not see what your fears have to do with my son."

"Do you love him?"

"Of course!"

"And your husband?"

"I married him, did I not?"

"Would you become mortal like them? I ask because I do not think you should have to sacrifice yourself for them."

"I prefer to focus on the time I have been given with my family, not its lack. I will eventually have to make a choice, but today is not that day!"

"No, but that day may be approaching faster than you think, Idril," Maeglin said in a low voice. "I want you to know that you can live a life without them. You can still find love elsewhere, start a new family, and rule your kingdom with another. I am begging you to let them go for your own sake."

"My father is king and my husband and son are far from death's door even though they are, for the moment, mortal. Now stop speaking to me in riddles!"

"I only wanted to warn you. Their days are numbered and soon I will be your only salvation. Perhaps I can even protect your son."

"What are you talking about?" Idril demanded.

Maeglin turned away from her and began to exit the tomb, saying over his shoulder, "Should anything ill ever occur, remember what I said."

He left Idril puzzled and terrified. She fell into a dark depression and began to have nightmares again of Maeglin burning her family alive, but also of forcing himself upon her. She began to avoid bedding Tuor, not because she did not desire him, but because she began to see Maeglin's face, not her beloved husband's, looming over her. She did not tell that disturbing fact, but Tuor knew. He was saddened, but he felt there was nothing he could do.

They stood upon the battlements and the wind was in their hair. Tuor thought Idril looked exceedingly beautiful and stooped to kiss her, but he stopped when he saw that her face was lined with sadness and her skin was cold and pale.

"What is it, Idril?"

"How much longer until the tunnel is finished?"

"It is almost a mile into the plain," Tuor said proudly.

"How much longer until it is entirely finished?"

"Perhaps a year would be my best guess."

She shook her head, "No, it must be sooner."

"Sooner?"

"Yes. We must start working round the clock and the word should be spread to the small folk of its existence. Should the city be attacked, Voronwë shall guide the women and children there. I feel the time is near."

"Are you sure? It is quite risky to start spreading rumors. The whole point of the tunnel was that it be kept a secret."

"I have never been more certain of anything in my life," she answered without hesitation.

"Very well. I shall inform Engner at once. Does that comfort you?"

She did not respond. The gloom in her eyes was heart breaking. Tuor tried to kiss her again and she turned her face away, tears falling from her eyes. Tuor could not help but feel frustrated and hurt. He cupped her face in his hands and gazed into her eyes.

"Look at me, Idril! It is I, your husband! It is Tuor, not Maeglin! I will not let him touch you! I promise you that! Put him from your mind! It is only in your mind that he can hurt you now!"

He brushed his lips upon hers just barely and she pressed herself against him to make it a real kiss. She began to sob and the ice to melt.

"I am so sorry," she wept. "I have been so distant. Forgive me."

"Sh," Tuor whispered. "It will be all right. We will get the tunnel finished within the month."

That night, they rekindled their romance. Idril was comforted if only for a while. Tuor made good upon his promise and Engner and his workers dug round the clock and completed their passage.

Earendel's seventh birthday came and passed. Morgoth was ready to unleash his wrath upon Gondolin at last.

It was the eve of Tarnin Austa, the Festival of Lamps. The Golodrim would feast in somber silence all night, shining their lamps, eagerly awaiting the dawn. Once the sun appeared, they would burst into joyful song and greet the sun's rays and give thanks for her light. Despite having to stay so still and silent for so long, it was Earendel's favorite holiday. The burst of sudden celebration after the boring stuff before made the fun even better. Besides, there were always plenty of his favorite foods to eat and he could run about the gardens and admire the eerie but beautiful glow and shadows cast by the lamps. The children took pride in their skill to keep quiet and practiced their stealth. They would try to find the loudest child and the quietest, compare their lamps, and try to howl and scream the loudest when the sun finally did rise.

His father helped him make his own lamp that morning. They baked and glazed a clay pot, cutting stars and ships so that the light would cast their shadows and make them dance as the candle flame flickered inside. As they worked Tuor told him tales of legendary sailors, of Ulmo and Ossë, and the lost shores of the Blessed Lands. Earendel never grew tired of them and liked to imagine sailing the Sea someday with his father. His mother helped dress him for the festival, warning him not to go swimming in the fountain without first taking them off this year. Then she kissed him and tickled him. He promised to remember.

The sun set and the Golodrim began to gather in the Great Market. Earendel anxiously sought out his grandfather to show him the lamp he had made. Turgon placed the child in his lap and presented his lamp to the rest of the court to marvel at then allowed the child to take the choicest edibles from his plate.

Tuor and Idril sat nearby, clasping hands and recalling their wedding day. The Great Market had been decorated with lamps in much the same way. It was also a good night for lovers and many a couple slipped away into the shadows or the gardens. They could whisper sweet romance without anyone noticing. They ate, speaking only in hushed voices to each other. Then someone called out that there was a faint glow over the horizon. The Great Market hissed as confusion settled in. It was far too early for the sun to rise. Something unnatural was occurring.

Little Earendel crept to his father and whispered, "What is happening?"

"Perhaps lightning struck the plain and it has caught fire?"

"It may be an aurora," Voronwë said softly.

"What is that?" the child cocked his head.

"A strange show of lights of many colors that appears in the sky. We saw it often in the icy waters at sea."

"And often at the Crossing of the Helceraxë," added Turgon. "It is a wondrous sight, but it looked nothing like this."

Idril offered no explanation, though her heart sank and her stomach felt as though it was harboring a living eel. She clutched Tuor's arm and stared in helpless horror as the lights stretched ever further, came ever closer, and became redder. Confusion slowly turned into utter despair and waved over the entire populace as the Golodrim's worst fear was finally realized.

A great cry rang up in the city, cutting the silence like a knife and snapping the others back to grim reality, "Morgoth is upon us."

Great was the anguish and fear of that most beauteous city once that terrible announcement finished ringing upon their ears. There were screams and wailing from the women and children. A few men scrambled to gear up and change their soiled clothes. Turgon scrambled to have his voice heard. Tuor and the other lords ran to his side.

"Send out scouts," Turgon said harshly. "And meet me in the council chamber. Make haste!"

Tuor stopped a brief moment to whisper to Idril, "Prepare to leave the city."

"What about you?"

"I must hear what the king decides to do. But I will return to the house one last time either to say farewell or to collect you. Wait for me there."

She became pale and Engner took her arm, "I will guard her until then."

"And I shall be with Tuor," Voronwë reassured her.

Idril nodded and lifted her son into her arms. Engner accompanied her to the house where she scrambled to collect what few valuables she could. She slipped out of her dress and sewed jewels and bits of gold into the folds of the skirt. Then she clothed herself all in mail. It was light and thin enough for quick movements but could notch the point of blades and hopefully stop arrowheads. She reinforced it with belts and slipped on her dress over it to conceal her second skin. She wept as she geared up. Wept for the city that she had known and loved most of her life, for the memories she shared with Tuor and her son, and all those that may not survive this night. She hoped that all her careful planning would finally bear fruit and would not be foiled by the Enemy or any other unseen force.

Tuor climbed up the stairs of the King's tower even though he felt as though heavy iron weights were fastened to his limbs. His stomach churned and each step was more reluctant than the last. Voronwë took his arm and aided him up to the hall. They were not the first to arrive nor were they the last. Maeglin stood beside the king, calm and as unreadable as ever. Turgon gazed out upon the fiery plains, his face gray. He said nothing until all the lords of the seven houses had gathered.

Turgon turned to them and spoke at last, "Great is the fall of Gondolin!"

A shudder ran down the spines of all those there, for he echoed the words of the prophets so long ago. Tuor found it difficult to hold his tongue. They had been warned of this for so long and so many times. He wanted to reveal the Children's Tunnel and persuade Turgon to simply order the entire city to flee through it. He knew he could not. He would be branded a coward, Turgon was too stubborn, and he did not trust Maeglin. He wanted to live, yes, but he did not want to run either. A small part of him wanted to remain for a glorious last stand.

He was not alone in this thought. Some of the lords called out that they would never abandon the city unless Turgon expressly commanded it of them. Most of them had known no other home. Death in the city they loved was preferable to death and uncertainty in the world outside of the white-washed walls. Tuor was not afraid of the Wild. In fact, he remembered the Sea and longed for it all the more. Perhaps now was the time to sail it with Idril at his side and his son upon his shoulders. Was it not in all Elves' blood, this sea longing?

Voronwë knew his thoughts and spoke, "My King, the city is lost. Why should we stand and defend it? Let us get the women and children out of here at least. They cannot stand and fight. Not one of the soldiers will abandon it, but do you demand the lives of the innocents as well?"

Turgon was strangely silent. If one looked into his eyes, they seemed empty and far away.

"Uncle," Maeglin said. "Remember the long labor we have spent in the making of this city. Every stone was set with love. There is no other city like Gondolin upon Arda. It rivals the cities of Valinor! It is the last true stronghold in the world. If it falls, there is no hope for the Eldar. And there will be even less hope for those of Tuor's race. The Enemy is terrifying, but not invincible, and we are not cowards. I do not wish to see our maids and little children suffer. But remember that there are few ways out of the city. The main gate is blocked and the hidden way is too narrow and is likely guarded as well. If they flee, they will only be butchered and enslaved. If we fight, though there is little hope, there will at least be a chance for them as well as the city. Gondolin is home to more than ourselves. It houses more than our bodies. Within the Vaults are treasures taken from Valinor, wealth untold, and all those material possessions we hold dear and sacred. Is it to be left for the greedy hands and claws of Orc folk and hoarded away by serpentine dragons? There are worse fates than death. The cup of exile is bitter, the curse of poverty a humiliation, and the loss of our courage and dignity unforgivable."

Maeglin spoke with all his persuasive power, and his speech was an inspiration to any of those with will left to fight. Even those that had despaired a moment ago lifted up their heads, renewed with hope. Turgon groaned, for he remembered the treasures of Valinor in particular. The thought of such holy artifacts in the hands of the Enemy struck him hard.

Tuor was horrified that this simple appeal to his greed seemed to sway his beloved liege lord. He had always known Turgon to be generous with his riches and loving toward his family as well as his people. He had always believed Turgon loved his work overmuch, but that in this hour, he would remember that the lives of the Golodrim mattered more. His faith seemed horribly misplaced.

When Turgon looked in Tuor's eyes, he could sense his turmoil. Tuor had the uncanny ability to wear his emotions and thoughts upon his sleeve. Idril had successfully taught him to cloak it some, but he did not bother to do so now. Turgon was ashamed, but he looked then upon Maeglin's smiling face. His nephew seemed so certain that the doom could be avoided still, so confident. He could never see the evil in his sister-son. He could not possibly guess the true meaning of Maeglin's triumphant smile.

"There is no time," Turgon's words were heavy and full of sorrow. "I release you all from your oaths. You are free to fight or flee as you choose. As for me, I will remain in my tower until the end, for good or ill. If this is the time for the Valar to return and battle with Morgoth and for the Noldor to redeem themselves, this is the hour."

With that, Turgon cast aside his crown. Without another word or glance to anyone, he locked himself within the tower's highest room to watch his beloved city burn. There could be no argument. Even though Tuor and the others rapped upon the door and begged and pleaded, he did not answer. He had given his last command.

Ecthelion and Glorfindel began to shout out orders for battle. They would fight, if only to buy the civilians time. Others rallied to them, but not Tuor. He slipped away and noted that Maeglin had gone missing as well. For all his talk, it appeared he had slipped away to perform some mischief or to make his escape.

"What shall we do, milord?" his guards asked. "Are we going to fight?"

"No," he answered. "I am going to find my wife and son. We shall make for the tunnel together. Turgon has released me, though I did not ask it of him. I would have remained at his side and died if he commanded it. I am glad he did not. My greatest desire was ever to remain with my family. Gondolin is lost."

Voronwë joined him and said, "The Enemy will do its best to prevent that. We must hurry."

"I shall go with you," Salagant stepped away from the others. "I have no desire to die like a desperate dog defending a few scraps of meat. We will be safer in numbers."

Tuor was not surprised that he was so quick to flee the city if he saw that others were of like mind. It appeared his master had abandoned him too. He even felt a little sorry for the wretched creature, so he nodded.

They fled out into the streets, making for Tuor's house in the square. They were forced to engage in some scattered combat. Already there had been some breaches in the walls, climbers, and monsters with wings were not stopped by walls. A mighty dragon landed in the market, burning everything in his path but the great fountain. It was here Ecthelion made his last stand. The great worm seized him in his jaws and spit him out into the fountain. The Lord of the Fountains drowned after a valiant battle.

As Tuor's guards did battle about him, distracted by Orcs, Salagant drew out a shirt knife. As the combat continued, he got ever closer to his target. Tuor was busy slicing through a small crowd of Orcs. It was then that Salagant's household guards turned their blades upon those of the Swan. Tuor was astonished as his own were slaughtered about him, taken completely by surprise. Salagant's blade was inches from his spine when an arrow whistled through the air. He cried out in pain as the arrow caught him in the back, and Tuor was startled. He turned about to see Salagant doubling over, the knife in his hands still. Furious at the betrayal, he swung his axe and took off the would-be assassin's head in one clean sweep.

With Salagant dead, his servants fled. Four of the Swan knights were dead. The rest were confused.

"I am glad I never took my eyes off him," Voronwë bellowed, retrieving his arrow from the carcass. "A pity you killed him so quickly. I want to know how much Maeglin paid him for this attempt."

"Is Maeglin responsible for this betrayal!" one of his knights wept over the remains of his companion. "This is Kinslaying! And at the worst of times!"

"Who else could it be?" Tuor knew it must be so, but he was still reeling with shock. He did not think Maeglin would ever be so careless or nefarious.

"I hope he is satisfied with whatever treasures he stole from the vault and will enjoy living in darkness among the mountains with his singing stones. May he die alone and unloved!"

"It was never treasure he wanted most," Tuor said with quiet alarm. "It was a living beauty he craved. The one maiden he could never have. And if he plotted to have me killed in this way, he could slaughter innocents as well! I must get home!"

"Before the Orcs do?"

"No! Before Maeglin finds my wife and son first!"

Earendel sat upon his bed with his hands clasped to his knees. The fires of Morgoth caused the shadows from the lamps to look more like eerie monsters dancing about his walls. Already a great heat was roasting the city. The boy was crying in terror, too young to even understand what was happening and no one was explaining. Engner tried to distract him by collecting his favorite toys though he was almost as frightened as the child. The rest of the servants and guards had either gone with Tuor or scrambled home to gather their families and possessions.

"Mother, are we going to leave the city forever now?" the child asked when she stepped into his room.

"If we can, little one."

"What of Ada?"

"We must wait for him in a safe place. Now come here. I have a present for you."

"A present?" despite all, the boy's eyes lit up for a brief moment.

Idril held out a child size mail coat similar in fashion to her own. She had made it in secret herself.

The boy groaned, "Mother, I can't wear it. It is much too hot!"

"You must!" Idril snapped. "Now is not the time for games, complaints, or disobedience! You will wear this beneath the clothes you are presently wearing. It is hot, I know, darling, and I am sorry. But this could very well save your life! Now do not leave this room until I come for you!"

Earendel gazed out the window and took the coat. He changed as quickly as he could.

There was a knock upon the door. Idril threw it open, expecting to see Tuor. Instead, she found Maeglin standing in the doorway.

He locked eyes with her and for a moment she was frozen in fear. His leather gloves were black as his galvorn armor and he wore no helm so that his dark hair fell about his shoulders like a dark mane. There was a strange token about his throat; a coin that she guessed must be made out of crude iron. When he noted where she was looking, he tucked the token out of sight, but it was too late. Her suspicion was soaring by the moment.

They gazed at each other expectantly, waiting for the other to make a move. She imagined nothing good could come from him, and he sensed her instinct to flee. He shifted his weight to the side and beckoned to her.

"You go before me, Idril Celebrindal. I shall guard you and see you safely from the city. Where is your little son?"

"What are you doing here, Maeglin?" she stayed put and ignored his question. "Why are you not on the field or defending the walls? Our soldiers have need of one of their most venerated generals now more than ever. And where is my husband? It should be him before me not you."

"The king has demanded that there be a last stand to try to save the city and all its riches. Tuor has eagerly gone to barricade the tower and the vaults, no doubt like an obedient dog. But I was thinking of my loved ones and was personally charged with your safety by those of higher authority. It is imperative that the future queen and her son be protected after all."

"Who gave you that order?" Engner stepped beside her. "Turgon? I would think not. Besides, I have a sword and more are coming. Idril is not as defenseless as you seem to think."

"And where are these others? As far as I can see Tuor left his wife and son in the hands of one incompetent tracker. What a strategist!"

"I have had more experience than you, pup!" Engner growled. "I have faced the dangers of the wilderness and the elements. I fought upon the same battlefield as you. I have slain Orcs, giant spiders, and Men!"

"There are much more than Orcs approaching. There are Men too, of course. There are no giant spiders to my knowledge, but trolls, wargs, vampires, and others. There are monsters of machinery that belch fire and oil and poison fumes. It is the largest and most effective army the Dark Lord has ever assembled. There are half a dozen dragons and even several Balrogs, including Gothmog himself."

"Tell me, coz," Idril's tone was stern. "How would you know of the Enemy in such detail?"

"I have always prided myself on being informed. I have my spies and I have even infiltrated Angband itself!" Maeglin's eyes were wild.

"You are mad!" Engner exclaimed.

"No," Idril said softly. "He is quite sane, I fear. Now tell me this coz: How long has it been since Morgoth bought you?"

"That is most unfair, Idril."

"HOW LONG?" she demanded. "Were you Morgoth's since you fell out of such high favor and I was named heir or was it long before that? Was it after you swore an oath to my father all those years ago or before even that! Were you born into such service or did you find Morgoth in the dark shadows of Nan Elmoth?"

Maeglin did not see the point in lying, "It has been seven years since I was Orc dragged to Angband and forced to reveal all of Gondolin's secrets. Had I refused, I would have been tortured until I confessed anyway or died horribly. It would not have been long before some other poor sod was captured and Gondolin exposed. But they would not have been clever enough to strike the deal that I did and salvaged what they could. Gondolin was doomed to fall; I was merely the tool to aid in its destruction."

"How could you!" Engner bellowed. "You lying self-serving snake! You treacherous bastard! Not even Eöl could have achieved total annihilation as you have delivered upon us!"

Maeglin struck him with his fist and spat on the ground. There was such violence and strength in the blow that Engner almost lost his balance and blood spilled forth from both lip and nose.

"Do not compare me to that coward!" Maeglin said. "Do not even mention his name!"

Engner was just as angry, "Deny him all that you please, you have proven yourself his son with your actions. He would be proud of you. Meanwhile Aredhel's body rots in that tomb because she took the poisoned spear meant for you. A pity that her sacrifice was wasted upon you! If only she had the foresight to see what you would become and how you would betray us and everything and everyone she ever loved. Instead of being a bride to the Dark Elf in death she could have been my living bride and Gondolin would have stood at least a thousand more years!"

"I have betrayed no one!" Maeglin snapped. "If my mother had known that a mortal was to be set above us all and placed upon the throne after he wed her niece, she would be rolling in her grave! Or even that you, Engner, pretended to love me and had every intention of treating me as a son while she was yet alive. Once dead though, you were nothing more than civil. Behind my back you spied upon me and looked for flaws and reasons to distance yourself. I could care less. I found the father I looked for in Turgon. But Tuor robbed me even of him. And the both of you turned Idril against me. For that I can never forgive you!"

"You promised your mother that you would always protect the king and Idril!" Engner retorted.

"I did promise that," Maeglin flashed a sweet smile at Idril. "And I will keep my promise in part. Only I can protect the Princess and her son now. So stand aside or die."

"Stand aside or die!" Idril cried, her voice trembling with rage and angry tears falling from her eyes. "So along with oath-breaking and treason you would add kin-slaying to the list of your crimes? How could you do this! How could you do this to the innocent small folk that have no part in the imagined schemes against you or to the soldiers that have fought and bled for you in previous battles? What of the King who loved you more than even his own daughter! He set you upon his right and me at his left long after he granted me the title of heiress. He believed no wrong could be done by you and gave you all the love and praise he denied me for so long. Everyone was convinced he would declare you his heir for so many years. You were everything he wanted in a son and you proclaim that you loved him as a father. Sons do not plot against and murder their fathers! Was it truly worth throwing away such love and devotion?"

"I have not betrayed anyone that did not first betray me," Maeglin insisted.

"Liar!" Engner shouted. "You merely expected everyone to worship you regardless of your character or actions!"

"What did Morgoth promise you that was worth destroying all this? What black fruit did he offer for your black soul? I too wish that Aredhel had not taken your place in death that day! She was my mother before she ever was yours. You and your father robbed me of her, the maiden I loved most in all the world!"

Maeglin's smug smile disappeared and he gazed out upon the city. There was sadness in his eyes and in his tone.

"Make no mistake, I DID love this city. I love it still. I love its fountains, walls, battlements, towers, and gates. I love its people, even the most shallow and despicable. Did I not labor in Gondolin's making with my own hands and with the sweat of my brow? The Gate of Steel is my own work. Did I not risk my own life for its people? Did I not train not only soldiers but smiths and architects? Did I not court my share of beautiful maids? Did I not resist the Enemy as long as I could? There is no question in my mind that I did. I loved only two things about the city more than all that I have listed. One of those was Turgon. He was the only person besides my mother that truly loved me and I him. If I could have found a way to spare his life, I would have pursued it. I would have saved every single soul. But I had to be selective or everything would be lost."

"No, YOU would gain everything that YOU wanted and everyone else would lose all that they have!" Engner bellowed. "How dare you try to spin your tale as though you are some pitiable, suffering hero and that you have made some sort of great sacrifice doing this? You deserve no more than a traitor's death!"

Maeglin drew his sword, "I do not have to explain or excuse anything. It is what it is. I am whatever villain you require me to be. I care not anymore and any attempts I make to ask for forgiveness and understanding are only met with curses and utter lack of appreciation. Now step aside, Engner, and let Idril and the boy pass, wherever the whelp may be."

"I am going nowhere with you, Maeglin!" Idril declared. "And neither will my son!"

"And I will not allow you to take them!" Engner drew his sword.

Their blades clashed. Idril backed away and scrambled to hatch some sort of way to bypass Maeglin and smuggle her son to safety. She wanted to save Engner too if she could. But she knew it was near impossible to do all these things. She did not need to witness their duel to know that Maeglin was a master with blades. Engner was not likely a match and she certainly was not. She had handled a blade before and there was a dull sword nearby she had once practiced with, but it was a deadly, unfamiliar territory for her. Her son was in the next room. If she called he would be seized and possibly murdered before her eyes. Maeglin held his ground before the only door to escape. The windows of their home led only to sky. All she could do was pray her son kept silent and out of sight and that Engner would win.

Maeglin's movements were strong, deliberate, and quick. Engner's were frantic and weaker. He tried to imagine he was fighting Eöl and would avenge Aredhel's death a second time. But try as he might, he stared back into her very eyes within Maeglin's face. He had no qualms about murdering the son of Eöl, but he was hesitant to murder the son of Aredhel. It was a crippling psychological affect that made his parries half-hearted and he attacked with reluctance. Maeglin did not stint at the idea of murder now. If his sins were so many, what was one more murder? He was determined to claim his prize at last. No one would stand in his way. No one.

Maeglin smiled with satisfaction as his sword pierced through a lung and Idril screamed. Engner collapsed to his knees with his life blood spilling out. Maeglin kicked away his sword as it fell from his hand and hit him with the hilt of his sword so that he fell upon his face on the floor. He was gasping for air and his eyes begged forgiveness as he looked at Idril. She leaned down to cradle him in her arms but Maeglin took a step forward and she sprang back, snatching up the dull blade as a last resort and backing away.

"Leave him," Maeglin snarled. "No need to get blood upon yourself, your royal highness. The Orcs can smell it and it drives the beasts wild."

"How could you!" she cried. "At least give him a clean death! He is slowly suffocating!"

"I warned him to step aside," Maeglin was unsympathetic, stepping over his crumpled body.

Idril swung the blade, but Maeglin hooked it with his own in one graceful move. He seized her with one hand and spun her about, pressing her back against his chest and raising both blades, one still in his hand and at the same time forcing her own arm in the same position so that both swords threatened to slice her throat. She struggled, not caring that she could feel the cold steel against her skin. Maeglin pressed his lips to her ear.

"As for my reward, Idril, Morgoth offered me all! My own kingdom, wealth, power, and the destruction of my enemies. All of this I might have gained on my own with time and careful planning. But there was one thing that he offered that I never could have hoped to gain but desperately desired. And the one thing I loved most in this city and have always loved more than anything is you. Just you."

He titled his head a little more so that his lips found her own. It was more ravenous and greedy than any kiss Tuor had given her. When she tried to let out a muffled cry he simply used that opportunity to move onto open mouth kissing. She was breathless when he finally pulled away for a moment but quickly found her voice again.

"Maeglin, stop!" she screamed. "Did you feel no revulsion or shame in that? We are cousins!"

"No."

"I am Tuor's and could never belong to you!"

"In a few minutes you will be a widow," Maeglin said confidently. "It has been arranged."

"I do not believe you!"

"If he somehow survives, do you really think he will want you after I have had you? You are mine now. You cannot run and you cannot refuse. I have waited centuries for this, Idril!"

He ripped the dull sword from her and cast it out of the nearest window while he sheathed his own. Then he seized her with both hands and forced her into another kiss. This time when he pulled away she let out a cry for aid as loudly and as desperately as she possibly could, hoping that someone was near and would somehow forget the fire and multitudes of screams and weeping in the city and come to her call. No one came.

Maeglin's strength was preternatural and his lust amplified by the adrenaline of blood and battle. He dragged her into the next room which was the master bedroom. He thought it might add spice to ravage her upon the bed she had shared with Tuor for the past seven years and began pulling at her clothes and pulling her down upon it. But she had one last trick up her sleeve, to his greatest frustration. When he ripped away the robes, what was revealed was not her naked flesh, but the mail suit and the dozens of belts and complicated buckles fastened about her waist, strapped along her chest, and had practically made a skirt of them wound about her legs and thighs made of tight leather thongs and copper. He might remove them all, but it would take precious time to unfasten them and if he tried to use his blade to cut through them he might risk cutting her.

She laughed as he let out a cry of rage, "Yes, I guessed that you might actually attempt to rape me and I prepared for it!"

"You know me too well, it seems. But what is one more night? I can wait a few more hours."

"I need not resist that long, surely. By the end of this night one of us or both of us will be dead," Idril's smile was joyless.

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

He kissed her, wishing he could possess her then and there still and wondered if he might even try still despite the risk. He began fumbling with some of the belts as he kissed what little skin was already exposed until he heard a little voice cry out.

"Uncle, what are you doing?" Earendel had come out of hiding in his room when he heard his mother's cries.

"RUN!" Idril tried to warn him.

But the child was too horrified and angered by what he saw. Engner still lay choking by the exit and Maeglin would set arms about his mother. He sprang at him in a foolish attempt to defend her. Maeglin had been so caught up in the whirlwind of his need that he had almost forgotten about the boy. Now he shook him off easily after barely feeling his little fists raining blows upon him and drew his sword again. Idril cried out and leaped from the bed to shield her son with her body.

"Do not harm him, Maeglin!" she begged. "Please! He is my son!"

Maeglin ripped the child from her grasp, "You will show me where this tunnel of yours is and you will stop fighting me now, or I swear your son will die!"

"What tunnel?" Idril did not think her heart could have sunk any lower.

Maeglin cut Earendel's cheek with his blade. The boy let out a little squeal of pain and Idril wailed and tried to pry her son from his grasp. Instead, Maeglin grasped her by her long golden hair.

"I will cut him for every time you attempt to lie to me! That is a promise! You are not practiced at such an art and I can read hearts almost as well as you can, Idril. I would not risk lying if I were you!"

"How did you-"

"My moles always lie underfoot and hear even the most discreet of whisperings. I congratulate you for keeping the tunnel a secret as long as you did. You almost got away with it too. Now show me the way to it!"

"You do not trust your Master, I see. So now you will take your spoils and run like a craven?"

"For now. Start walking!"

"How can I trust that you will not kill my son anyway?"

"Do you have any other choice?"

Idril put one foot in front of the other and took a reluctant step.

"That's a good girl," Maeglin said with sickening sweetness.

"Idril, just where are you taking us?" Maeglin demanded. "Methinks you are trying to outwit me somehow by leading us astray and buy time for your precious Tuor or another one of his sandal licking friends. I tell you now, it will not work."

"I cannot very well lead you the straight way in case one of the Enemy is following, now can I?" Idril snapped. "And the going is slow because you refuse to let go of my hair!"

Maeglin drew out the decorative chains that he had fashioned for just such an occasion more or less. He clasped them upon her wrists and held the end of them and admired his work for a moment.

"They look just as I imagined they would upon you. Are they terribly uncomfortable?" he asked.

"Does it really matter?" she said bitterly. "They are chains!"

"It does matter. I grew up with a father that used pain upon his wife as a means to an end. I do not intend to use such abuse upon you. You must admit it is better than pulling you about by your hair or wrenching your arm off. Also, the Orcs will see that you are my captive and will not touch you. Never you mind about the Enemy. They will not lay a hand upon us. I was promised protection which extends to you as well."

"But not my son," she pointed out. "And you are not fool enough to trust Morgoth's promises are you?"

"I have no other option, do I? Whatever Morgoth promised me, it may count for nothing when the Orcs begin burning and looting. And if you think me such a monster, Idril, imagine what a regiment of Orcs would do to you and your son. They have no women-folk of their own. I have seen what they do to maidens in the Thrall Vaults, both Elf and Woman. It is... unspeakable. The human girls usually do not survive, and the Elf maids must endure it again and again. It will only go worse for you when they have the blood song upon them. Then they may take your battered and bruised form before Morgoth as a trophy of war. He has shown himself more than capable of lusting after beautiful maids. Lúthien was proof of that. And since she escaped his clutches, he may be willing to settle with another Elf Princess. As for your son, they will tear into his tender flesh and eat his heart and liver first and then his entrails. Elf children are a delicacy among their kind."

"If that is the case," Idril struggled to keep her voice steady. "How can you possibly protect us?"

"With the token about my neck and with the power of my words. Words alone are what saved me from death at the hands of Orcs before. Pray that if they come upon us and reach for your son that I am in the mood to bargain for his life."

"And if they still accost us?"

Maeglin gripped the hilt of his sword, "Then I will die to defend you."

Idril was not satisfied. He continued to refer only to her, not her son. She was convinced that as soon as they reached the tunnel he would dash her son's head against the wall or leave the child trapped inside as he sealed the tunnel to guarantee their escape. She knew she could not delay much longer, though. Desperately she tried to think of some clever way to save her child. And then she had it. Her feet began to lead her toward the Caragdur. It was her last hope and greatest fear.

Maeglin began to realize where they were headed and was puzzled at first. It was a place that everyone avoided not only because it was dangerous, but because of the history that had taken place there. Perhaps the tunnel started somewhere nearby precisely for that reason. As he mused, Idril tried to squeeze the chains loose, though the little mithril links cut her skin. She tried her best to hide her actions and the blood gushing through her own chain sleeves and gnashed her teeth. She stopped once they reached the precipice and refused to move again.

"What is this?" Maeglin snarled, pulling at her chains to drag her to her feet and face him.

"The way out," she answered curtly. "I call it the Sky Tunnel. Use it if you dare!"

Maeglin shook his head, "You disappoint me, Idril. We have no time to play this sort of game with each other and your son cannot possibly afford it."

"There is no Children's Tunnel," Idril insisted with all of her conviction. "It was a rumor we spread to bring hope to the defenseless maids and little children but we never started it. We thought, with it seemingly so peaceful, that we had years still to create it."

"You are lying! And this time your son will pay with more than a small cut!"

"No!" little Earendel cried.

"Hear me!" Idril pulled at the chain now, as much his as hers with him clutching them so tightly. "If we had really completed the tunnel would we have kept it a secret from my father? Would we have really gambled upon word of mouth to save the poor small folk?"

Maeglin doubted for a moment. Her eyes were sincere, but when he tried to read deeper with his piercing gaze he could still sense a hardened resistance in Idril. She was usually so well guarded, but Maeglin might prove more than a match. He had made an obsessive habit of studying her. Furthermore, he needed to find a way to escape the city with his hard won prize safe. Hiding in the city, even in his private forge, may yet prove to be a mistake. He did not want to lose his hard won prize now that he finally had it within his grasp. He took Idril firmly by the chin, tracing her lips, wondering if he could sense lies that way and considering something else in his dark thoughts.

"Do you take me for a fool?"

"I once took you for a friend and kinsman," she whispered.

His hand went to her throat, applying the slightest amount of pressure as an intimidating warning.

"Idril, if you and I were not blood related, do you think you could have ever loved me?" Maeglin asked suddenly. "If you were not so convinced that my feelings are sinful and that a bonding between you and I was not incest, would you have ever come to desire me?"

It seemed like a misplaced question, but Idril gave it proper weight before she answered with certainty, "Blood is thicker than water and the fact that you and I are kin cannot be dismissed or ignored. But even if it was as you say, that we were not related in any way, I still do not think it would have been possible for me to love you."

Maeglin was not surprised but hurt nonetheless, "Why? What have I done to make you hate me so?"

"It is because you are fair to look upon but foul in every other regard. You have talents and skills to be envied and yet you squander such potential in vainglorious projects and engage in evil practices," Idril had wanted to say all these things for years. "It is because whatever friends you made you took for granted. It is because whatever good accomplishments you made you constantly boasted and bragged of. It is because you spoke down to anyone not of your class and mocked the nobles. It is because you constantly grasped for power and wealth that never belonged to you. It is because you treated all the maidens that adored you with contempt and fleeting pleasantries at best that made your severing of them all the more painful. It is because you engaged in Kinslaying long before you committed the act tonight. I know that for certain now. It is because you continually penetrated my mind and would not hesitate to do so to my body. It is because you threaten my son and showed no respect to my husband Tuor. It is because you manipulated my father and convinced him you cared. It is because you decided that every living thing and every stone in this city was built to serve you and not, as it should be, that it was built so that you could serve its citizens. It is because as much as you hated the Dark Elf, you are his son, not Aredhel's. I am Aredhel's child. I am her heir. No, Maeglin, I could never have loved you. I could never love you because you are twisted."

He squeezed her throat, this time enough that it was a painful grip.

"Once again I will ask: Where is the tunnel?"

She did not even flinch. Maeglin sighed.

"Both of you, look down," he pointed.

Mother and son gazed down to the sight of the fields of Tumladin ablaze. There was a heat like hellfire and the clamor of war. Maeglin turned to the child.

"Tell me, boy, how old are you?"

"Seven."

"Have you had a happy life so far?"

"Not today," the child shook his head. "Today I wish I had never been born."

Idril reached out to comfort her son, but Maeglin took him by the arms, lifting him away.

"Seven years old and already weary of life. Better to kill you now then allow you to become a reflection of myself."

Idril screamed as Maeglin dangled the child over the precipice. She clasped his knees and begged him to spare her babe. She remembered her dream and the image of her son burning. Earendel wailed.

"Lómion!" she used his childhood name, the name she formerly refused to utter. "Lómion, please stop! You do not want to do this! You are many things, but you are not a murderer of children!"

For a moment Maeglin paused. It had been so long since anyone called him by his real name, and it had only been his mother. But Aredhel had always said it with such tender care. It did not sound as sweet suddenly coming from Idril because she was desperate and afraid. Even though he had asked her to say it for years, he was less satisfied than he had once hoped. It put him in a fouler mood.

"Why should I spare the brat?" Maeglin snapped.

"He is my son and your godson!"

"He may be your son, but he is not mine! He is a half-human abomination, not a true child!"

"He is mine! That should be enough! If that is not enough, look at him! He has my father's look. Even some of your mother is in him. Some of yourself! Please, if ever you loved me-"

"I loved you and yet you spurned me! You wed a living corpse and made a son with him instead! We can always have more children, Idril. They will be strong, beautiful, and ours. They will not be half dead when born like this one. Maybe I will plant one in you tonight!"

Idril's face was gray and her eyes glistening and wide. She was horrified by what he said, but she did not want her son to burn.

"What-what do you want?" she stammered. "It is not my son you want. It is me. Only me. I-I will do any-anything you ask. Just. Please. Do not harm my baby."

"The location of the tunnel in exchange for your son's life. This time."

She sputtered, thinking of all the other mothers with babes in their arms she would certainly condemn to death and thralldom if she gave in. Maeglin let the child slip a little and she almost leaped after him. Earendel cried out. Maeglin still had Idril's chains though and pulled her back. And then Idril caved and blurted out the location of the tunnel in a storm of strangled sobs and tears. It was painful for her and tedious for Maeglin, but he was able to interpret what she spoke of well enough.

"You see, Idril, that was not so hard, was it?" Maeglin said almost tenderly and placed her son back on solid ground.

She cursed him. He laughed and pulled her into another kiss. This time when he forced his tongue into her she bit down on it defiantly. Blood rushed into their mouths. Idril began to cough and wretch it upon the ground, repulsed on so many levels. Maeglin merely grinned and wiped the blood from his own lip.

"It is the same blood as your own, Idril. Can you reject it so callously?"

"We are kin, but you are a kin-slayer and a monster!" she screamed.

He kissed her again, giving her another taste of his blood and muffling her cries. Earendel could not stand by and watch his mother being violated. He unleashed all of his fury on Maeglin until the Dark Elf's son got it into his mind to draw his dagger and stab at the annoying insect. The hidden mail shirt notched the blade and the child bit his outstretched hand with tiny teeth but amazing ferociousness for his size. The blade dropped to the ground. Maeglin was confused and blinded with fury. He decided to cast the boy over the cliff and feed him to the flames out of pure cruelty of heart. He seized the boy.

"Enough of you!" he snarled. "Man-child, Elf-ling, whatever you are, you are dead!"

"You promised you would spare him!" Idril shrieked.

"Did I promise that?" Maeglin cocked his head. "I lied."

"Murder my son and I will never let you have me! I will throw myself off this cliff and take you with me or throw myself upon the nearest blade!"

"You will not. Your life is mine now!"

"I swear it by the Valar! I will kill you and then myself! At the very least I will give it a very good try! Every night, every time you touch me, you will risk your very life! I will never let you rest! I will find a way!"

The three of them grappled. The son of the Dark Elf, the White Lady, and the Half-Elf. Maeglin remembered how fierce Aredhel became when Eöl threatened him as a child. He recalled his own fear and anger. Idril had no weapons but suddenly became a tigress defending her cub, summoning strength from some source that astonished both of them and brandishing tooth and nail like so. She had managed to squeeze one of her hands from the chains and the child was without bonds. He fought for his own survival.

For the first time, Maeglin was really struggling. His blades seemed useless even against the tender child and he could not bring himself to harm Idril. They were dangerously close to the edge. He wanted to throw the child over, but in doing so, prevent himself or Idril from falling over as well. The chain guaranteed they'd share a similar fate. Idril did not seem to care for her life, only for that of her son.

Suddenly a voice cut through the air in a roar of such rage it gave them all pause. It was Tuor. Idril cried his name and Earendel twisted from Maeglin's grasp and ran to his father, wailing. But Maeglin still held Idril both by her hair and by the chains about her wrists. Tuor wrapped an arm about his son but gazed at Maeglin murderously.

"It is a surprise to see you, Tuor," Maeglin spoke first.

"No doubt it is a surprise to you," Tuor said with an ominous tone. "Well, Maeglin, where are the Orcs you saved my wife and son from?"

"Orcs?"

"Yes, the Orcs. There are chains about my wife and a fresh cut upon my son's cheek. Surely this is Orc-work. Doubtless you were on your way to battle when you chanced upon my wife and son being accosted by the Enemy. Perhaps some rogue climbers and scouts. Or perhaps there was a small breach already in the walls. Did you allow them to escape? Where are their corpses? Is your sword so notched from such fierce battle that you cannot cut those gaudy-looking chains off of my beloved?"

Earendel stilled his tears and pointed at Maeglin, "He is the one that cut me, Ada! He killed Uncle Engner and has put his dirty hands all over Mamil. He is mean and evil, and he would have killed me just now and kept on hurting Mamil."

Maeglin sneered, "I should have cut out your tongue before aught else, egg!"

"Perhaps the boy is mistaken," Tuor's voice was still steady. "For Prince Maeglin has vowed an oath to King Turgon and always protected this city. It is well known he loves Idril Celebrindal above all others. It is known that he is godfather to my son. It is known that he has no taint in him. Yes. It is known without question. So when I ran to my house in great distress where my family was, and with his dying breath Engner told me: Maeglin has them, my heart did not sink at all. It was glad. For I knew they should be safe. I need only find you."

"Indeed. The princess is safe with me. I am the only one that can keep her safe now."

"Yes. I can see that. You were going to save my wife. But not my son, is that the way of it? Pray tell me, what you were about to do with my family just now?"

"I would have burned your precious son and ravaged Idril countless times," Maeglin did not lie. "What of it?"

Tuor drew his axe.

"No!" Idril whimpered. "Do not attempt to save me, Tuor! I could not bear to see you hurt or murdered! Take our little son! Escape with your lives and I will see to my own!"

"Best listen to her," Maeglin said. "She shows wisdom and selflessness. Admirable qualities indeed. I do not need to lay a finger upon you or the child, after all. Death is written upon your brows anyway. I am astonished you are not already dead! Someone has failed me."

"You speak of the attempt your mole Salagant made upon me?" Tuor laughed grimly. "Voronwë!"

They gazed and upon the parapet yards away Voronwë stood with his bow in one hand and a severed head in another. He flung it far and it fell at Maeglin's feet. It was Salagant. There was not a flicker in Maeglin's eyes and he kicked it away. Idril gasped and Earendel went pale as milk. Voronwë fitted an arrow to his string and took careful aim.

"Make him fall back!" Maeglin drew his sword and placed it before Idril's throat. "Do not make me hurt her!"

Tuor hesitated. He tried to determine if Maeglin's threat was empty or not. On one hand, his obsession with Idril was no passing thing. He had not even possessed her yet. Surely he was determined to at least enjoy her once before he slit her throat. But on the other hand, he was cornered and desperate. He hated Tuor and may be determined that if he could not have Idril, no one would. Eöl had eventually slain Aredhel. He remembered Engner's plea: To protect Idril from such a doom.

"Strike us down! Both of us!" Idril pleaded. "I would rather feel the cold kiss of steel or the bite of an arrow than to be crushed beneath Maeglin in his forge and feel his kisses and his teeth gnawing at my flesh, polluting my body as well as my soul! Surely he will destroy me once he tires of me. If I am to meet death, I would rather it be delivered by my beloved husband."

"No!" Tuor said in horror. "I would not strike you down! Never!"

"And that is what he is counting on, my beloved fool," Idril's eyes were sad.

Tuor lowered his axe and Maeglin laughed.

"I consider this a fair trade! I allow you to take your son and live yourself. It is more than you deserve. For those cheap lives I will take golden Idril Celebrindal. You were never worthy of her, and I promise you I will take good care of her."

To provoke Tuor and for his own pleasure, Maeglin kissed Idril, making an obscene show of it. But Voronwë took that chance to fire a single arrow that landed in Maeglin's sword arm. He fired another, trying to aim for Maeglin's eyes, but it embedded itself in Idril's chain mail. She stirred to action and began to pull away from Maeglin. Then Tuor sprang forward, ripping Maeglin away from his wife. Idril took her son in her arms to shield him in case Maeglin reached for him again and Voronwë, out of arrows, rushed to join them.

Tuor's axe met Maeglin's blade. Maeglin was strong, but he was surprised at the mortal's strength. Maeglin had seen Tuor spar on the practice field, but he had never witnessed Tuor's true talent. Whenever he practiced, Tuor did so with a sword. His swordplay was not child play, but he was much more comfortable and formidable with his axes. Tour had seen Maeglin with his blade and studied him. He was aggressive, while Tuor was like a steady rock. Maeglin was proud of his prowess, Tuor was humble. Maeglin was competitive and rarely lost a fight. Tuor was usually cautious and observant. Not this night.

Tuor had been shaken from his foundations, and his instinct to protect his family gave him enormous strength and will. He remembered the Easterlings coming to take Alanna away and how powerless he had been to stop it. He remembered the cries of Annael's people as they were carted away to become thralls of Angband. He channeled his righteous rage when he remembered all the times Maeglin had tormented his wife and threatened his child. Maeglin thought only of the pleasure he would experience killing Tuor himself. He was almost glad he had stumbled upon them and that Salagant had failed.

Suddenly Tuor charged at him, blocking Maeglin's sword with the blunt of his axe. Then he seized not Maeglin's sword, but his sword arm and snapped it with a sickening sound. Maeglin winced but showed no fear or pain, but the sword dropped. Maeglin would have bounded after it, but he had to dodge Tuor's axe. Idril scooped up the blade instead. Now Maeglin tried to wrest away Tuor's weapon using only his remaining arm. Even with one, Maeglin's strength was unnatural. He squeezed at Tuor's throat. He tried to shake Maeglin off and they rolled dangerously along the edge of the precipice, struggling. At some point, Tuor lost his axe, but he managed to get atop Maeglin, grabbing and twisting his fingers back and away from his neck. Then he grabbed Maeglin by the middle of his torso and lifted him high.

The last words of Eöl the Dark Elf echoed in Idril's ears and also in Maeglin's: "Here shall you fail of all your hopes and here may you yet die the same death as I!"

Then Tuor cast him over the precipice. He disappeared among the rocks and flames. So Maeglin the Betrayer was slain, and Idril's long nightmare was over.

Tuor crawled away from the precipice, heaving and laboring to breathe. He brushed his hand over his axe, relieved it had not gone over the edge as well. Then he stretched out his arms to receive his family. Idril and Earendel ran to him. He wrapped his arms around his son and his wife lovingly. He searched them for wounds. The arrow had not pierced through Idril's mail and Earendel's cut may not even leave a scar. There was still blood smeared on Idril's lip.

"Did the bastard harm you?" Tuor growled.

"That is not my blood," she said bitterly, wiping it away.

"Fighting him was dangerous."

"After all the years spent tolerating his subtle glances and enduring his touches, I could not do so anymore."

"You will never have to do so again," Tuor promised and turned to his son. "Are you hurt? What is it that you are wearing?"

He began to open the boy's shirt and the child squirmed and fussed, insisting he was well. Tuor realized the boy was wearing armor too. He could distinctly see where Maeglin's dagger had almost pierced through, right between the child's ribs. He was horrified for a heartbeat, then relieved.

"This is your work, wife?"

She nodded.

"You saved our son's life. You are the craftiest maiden in all the world!"

"It was about time my gift of foresight saved someone."

"Can I take it off now?" Earendel asked.

"No!" his mother and father barked in unison.

He groaned.

"Is it true?" Voronwë was breathless from his run across the way. "Is Maeglin dead?"

They nodded.

"The Eldar will never again know such a villain! Long may Mandos hold him in his keeping!"

"If only his death could undo his deeds," Tuor sighed.

"He would have sown greater evil had he lived."

"I am glad he is dead!" Earendel fumed. "He was a monster and hurt my mother! But you saved us and killed him, Ada!"

"Yes," Idril kissed her husband. "You saved us, my love."

Tuor pressed her to him but knew the danger had not passed. The city was falling.

"Where is my father?" Idril asked.

Tuor frowned, "He is still in his tower."

Idril merely stared. She always knew her father would never abandon his city, even if it meant losing everything. Even if it meant losing her and Tuor and his beloved grandson. But now Tuor got it into his head that they might save him too.

"Voronwë, you must go with my wife and son. It may well be that Maeglin has other agents or the Enemy was part of his vile plan to seize my wife and murder my child. I must try one last time to save the king."

Idril clasped his arm in a desperate grip, "You must not! If my father has decided to go down with the city, do not risk yourself further!"

"I must at least try!"

"Then I will go with you! It is my father you speak of, not your own. Voronwë will keep our babe safe."

"I cannot-"

"They will be searching for the White Lady with a child in arms, not a mariner with his son in tow. Nor a soldier with a shield maiden at his side."

"Keep close."

"Ada! Mamil!" Earendel did not like this.

"Keep close to Voronwë!" Idril commanded him.

Voronwë made for the Children's Tunnel as Tuor and Idril made for the heart of the city. She clutched Maeglin's blade in her arms. She had half a mind to cast it away, having a feeling that it was cursed, but she had no weapon herself. They gathered whatever soldiers they came upon about them and rescued a few maids and children from fire and Orcs. They told them of the tunnel and sent them to escape. There was fire breaking out everywhere. The Enemy's machinery cast great balls of flame where they could. Dragons were scaling the walls, breathing ice, fire, and lightning. Sometimes they merely spewed forth foul black liquid.

"The House of Healing is burning!" a soldier cried in despair.

"The House itself does not heal anyone. Pray instead that the healers and the wounded did not burn inside it!" said another.

Tuor and Idril could see that the palace was ablaze as well as the King's tower. Idril wailed and Tuor prepared to run toward the palace in a desperate attempt to save his liege lord, but Idril dropped to her hands and feet and clasped his knees. He almost fell forward but managed to catch his balance. He could not help but be annoyed.

"Let go, Idril!"

"Stop!" she cried. "You will be killed!"

"Your father is in there!" he reminded her.

"Too well do I know it!" she answered. "He has chosen death! I cannot allow you to do the same! Do not leave me!"

He struggled, but she would not let go. Frantic tears fell from her cheeks and stung her eyes almost as bad as the smoke. And then the flames roared and the tower and all the rest began to collapse rubble, pillars of smoke, burning wood and mortar crashed to the ground, crushing all in its path. Even one of the dragons lurking nearby that had slaughtered Ecthelion caught some of the damage and lay like a coiled rope seething steam. As its final breaths vaporized and the dust settled, some semblance of vision returned. Had Tuor dashed off to climb the tower, he would have certainly been killed.

"Once again your love has saved me. They might say your actions were desperate or foolish. I know better."

Tuor stooped and kissed her lips. They tasted the salt of one another's tears. Though they had been saved, one of the last Elven-kings and a father had perished. They could only spare a few tears now. Later they would keen their grief. There was nothing left but to make good their escape.

He lifted her to her feet and they ran, leaving the city of Gondolin to her fate. There was toxic fumes rising up the hill and the smoke from the fire alone was becoming stifling. The cold darkness of the tunnels was a more than welcome respite. They walked hand in hand, hoping that their son would be reunited with them and that more than a mere handful of the populace had been spared.

"Ada!" they recognized a child's voice. "Mamil!"

They sprang to greet him. The Golodrim, or what was left of them, were huddled at the exit, fearful to venture forth and reluctant to abandon any last survivors, especially with no clear word from their king or his kin. There were fewer women and children than they had counted upon. Too many mothers missing and too many dead fathers. Orphaned Elf-children cried inconsolably.

Of the Elf-lords, only Glorfindel was left, "Where are King Turgon and Prince Maeglin?"

"Maeglin is dead," Idril answered. "Even if he were not, he was a turn cloak and secret servant of Morgoth."

"Maeglin, a traitor!"

"It is true," Tuor and Voronwë confirmed it. "And the King died in the city he so loved. You heard his last command. We are free."

"Grand Ada is dead?" Earendel squeaked.

"So many are."

The boy became silent and sad. Where once his happiness had been impossible to dampen, the fall of Gondolin forever changed him. As he grew older and was able to comprehend the tragedy, he wondered at the betrayal of Maeglin. He grew to admire and respect his mother's resourcefulness, his father's courage, and his love for his family. It was then he began to realize that there was evil even in the Eldar and that the Second born were not so different. There was much to admire in the race of Man. He would later question the Valar and the role they played and seek those answers even if it meant risking his very life.

"I suppose this makes you Queen, Idril Celebrindal," Glorfindel sighed. "And Tuor is your Royal Consort."

"We shall lead the people, but do not give me that title," Idril said softly. "Gondolin is no more. There is no kingdom. We can no longer be called Golodrim. We are Exiles once more. There are no kings or queens among exiles."

"Command us, White Lady."

"We must not linger. We have no resources and the tunnel will soon be discovered. The Enemy has been victorious this day, but we yet live. The Exiles of Doriath do as well. We must gather our people, all of them, not just the Noldor. We must flee south to the Mouths of Sirion."

"I can guide us there," Voronwë volunteered. "And I can see the lands of Nan-tathren once again."

Idril and Tuor tried to comfort the people. They were wracked with grief but spared the full impact of it because of the shock and the knowledge that they were all orphans now and ever in peril. With Maeglin's betrayal, the Golden Age of the Elder days was over.

*Final Notes*

The Exiles of Gondolin were accosted by a Balrog as they journeyed South. Glorfindel remained behind and fought it so that the rest of his people could escape. They slew each other. It is heavily implied that he was later reborn in the Third Age and is the same Glorfindel that played a small part in the Lord of the Rings. The Noldor wound up at the Mouths of Sirion after all, which became the last refuge of nearly all the Eldar. Voronwë remained in Nan-thathren and ended his days there. The Noldor comingled with the Sindar, or the Exiles of the Hidden Kingdom of Doriath. Among these was Elwing the granddaughter of Princess Lúthien and Beren, another Man and Elf mating. She was close in age with Earendel and lived a disastrous beginning of life. Her family was slain by the Sons of Feanor in the worst Kinslaying committed by Elves yet. With her were the Silmaril and the hopes and dreams of her people. She wed Earendel to produce the twins Elrond and Elros. Tuor and Idril would sail across the Sea when Earendel came of age, vanishing together. It is said that they found long lost Valinor. Because Tuor was Ulmo's Chosen, he was accounted among the Eldar and granted immortality. Earendel and Elwing would choose the twilight of the Elves as well. But the twins Elrond and Elros chose otherwise. Elros became mortal and birthed the nation and race of the Numenor, Half-Elf men. Elrond would choose the twilight but ever be called Elrond Half-Elven and comes to us as so in Lord of the Rings. Earendel became the child of prophecy indeed. He spoke to the Valar, redeemed the Noldor at last, and in a terrible final battle Morgoth was overthrown and chained by Tulkas. The Elves never recovered, however, their former glory.

Maeglin would remain the most tragic and twisted of villains in the history of the Eldar.


End file.
